The Duality of Leaving
“Nitigya sir, what are your superpowers?” asks a curious Yuvishkha to her handler via what looks like an interplanetary video call.
“I can disappear. Not completely, but…86.75%” Nitigya replies and then goes on to demonstrate his special ability. A pleasantly amused Yuvishkha responds by saying that he is still visible, to which Nitigya replies by saying that it is impossible to completely vanish. Writer and Director Arati Kadav confirmed on Twitter that this in fact is the central idea of her debut feature, Cargo, now streaming on Netflix.
Set in a very foreseeable future (2027), Kadav’s film takes place in a world which is a fantastic blend of science fiction and mythology and is set aboard a spaceship where a Rakshas helps humans transition to their next lives after their death. The ship is one of the original six — (very aptly) titled “Pushpaks” — sent to the heavens after a historic peace treaty that was signed between the demons and the humans 75 years earlier. Prahastha, the astronaut of Pushpak 634-A, is one of the original six, hailed as a hero back on Earth where people haven’t seen him for close to a century. Prahastha’s career is as old as the spaceship itself. His costume has blended with the color scheme of the ship, his machines have become outlawed back on the planet, the regulations surrounding transitioning have evolved, and his life has settled into a very comfortably monotonous routine.
After 75 years of doing only one job, Prahastha thinks that he has become one with his vehicle, and reacts strongly to the idea of having an assistant — sharper, younger, with superior talents, and a woman — attached to him by his employers. The fact that after sacrificing 75 years of his life to a singular purpose he would have to live with new people telling him how to do things is not a satisfying prospect for him. Yuvishkha’s appointment is also a reminder that the Pushpak which he had made his home for so long did not actually belong to him. It is a reminder that the final control over his “home” remained with the government, and that even after all these years he wasn’t the boss. Additionally, Prahastha is perhaps also subconsciously aware that the possibility of having someone else than him on board his ship opens up the possibility of him eventually not being on that ship, and he is terrified of that possibility.
Throughout the course of the movie, the humans that reach 634-A for their transition — called Cargo — meet with unnatural, abrupt, and absurd deaths. The Cargo is often as shocked, unprepared, and unimpressed by the circumstances of its death as its near and dear ones on the living planet might be. Like Prahastha, all the Cargo are unwilling to leave. Some ask for a final phone call, others ask for a better next life. A man who looked out all his life for his family is literally stabbed in the back, a real estate guy dies due to a building accident, and loneliness curer dies after finally starting a not-so-lonely life. Most of them are still attached to their lives when they arrive onboard, and some are strongly opposed to the idea of a fresh start.
As one of the Cargo points out, they would rather again live the same underwhelming, mundane, disappointing, lonely life that they already lived than venture out into new uncharted territories. Prahastha is afraid that the only life he has ever known would come to an end, and he is afraid of living like any other person on Earth. He is afraid to confront his own inner demons (spare me for that pun) and his past when back in a social surrounding. Life aboard is terrifyingly lonely and mundane, almost predictable, but at least there’s the surety of not having to rebuild bridges which he burnt a lifetime ago. Additionally, there’s some free entertainment, a sense of ownership and self-importance over a large area, and a regular uninterrupted supply of food.
For a large part of her movie, Arati Kadav focuses on these reluctances towards accepting the inevitability of leaving. Prahastha is initially pained when he realises that he too would eventually have to let go of the solitary world that he built for himself, but soon understands that leaving isn’t necessarily as final as it is unavoidable. And it definitely isn’t the one singular thing that defines anyone. The film uses the concept of reincarnation to drive this point home, but even in non-death scenarios and in a world where there is only one life, we never leave entirely. We give a part of ourselves to the things that we do, to the lives that we lead, to the people whom we love. We give character to spaces we occupy and carry back souvenirs from new lands that we discover. And through these actions, we continue to breathe long after we leave — be it a place, a person, or a life.
The inevitability of leaving, the unavoidability of endings often gives a fuller meaning to what people do. The irony of the world is that often things are remembered when they are missed. Overstaying welcomes and strongly holding on to trivial attachments make situations uncomfortable for everyone, while letting go is liberating. There no longer are a set of regulations and expectations to follow and live up to, and instead, there is a celebration of the things that once were.
People fear goodbyes because those are the most certain aspect of any beginning. But they forget that between those two moments lies an infinity of possibilities, and our choices and actions in those possibilities are what go on to define us. The movie maneuvers through multiple deaths — people leaving — to make Prahastha come to terms with the fact that his time has indeed come. But before he leaves, he learns that “nothing is ever gone forever. Some things remain, always.” Or as Mr. Nitigya had pointed out to Yuvishkha, “it is impossible to disappear completely.”
