A mother is lying awake in bed in the middle of the night. She gets off the bed and drags herself to her daughter’s room – bed unmade, their pet dog Rolo sprawled on it. She crawls in, hugs Rolo and lies down in a ball.
As the camera pans out of the room, we see the father leaning against the door, gazing inward, as if unable to step in. The memories are too strong, too overwhelming, and he cannot lose himself in it. Not again.
Shonali Bose’s The Sky Is Pink is not so much about death as it is about several shades of grieving – for those who’re left behind. To grieve or not to grieve, and then, how to grieve, exactly? Should you wrap yourself up in their memories, their smell and believe they’re still with you? Or should you distance yourself, selfishly protect yourself from being swept away, even at the cost of being misunderstood as dispassionate? That is the question.