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By Dr Sudhirendar Sharma B R Chopra's Naya Daur, released in 1957, was a compelling film about the onslaught on people's livelihoods. Now, as SEZs edge out farmers and organised retail edges out small vendors and traders, the film, re-released in colour, has a special message about the importance of inclusive growth
 B R Chopra’s Naya Daur was made in the middle of the last century, but audiences must see it because it is even more relevant today. Reincarnated in colour and sound to match contemporary tastes, the compelling script pitches people against profit. The onslaught on peoples' livelihoods and survival has gained more serious dimensions since the movie was released in 1957.
As Special Economic Zones threaten to edge poor farmers out of their traditional vocation, as sprawling shopping malls begin to raze the livelihoods of neighbourhood vendors, and as big-business retailing challenges the existence of small-time traders, machine and hands are in serious battle once again. Naya Daur had only scripted the contours of a simmering social discontent; the myriad conflicts surfacing today reflect the real story. All is well in an almost idyllic village that hums to its daily rhythm -- between small farmers, sawmill workers and horsecart owners. No sooner does the benign millowner leave on a pilgrimage than the rhythm turns into chaos as his city-bred son smells profit in his father's business. A new machine at the mill throws workers out of their jobs and the introduction of a bus threatens the cart owners’ vocation. There is a glaring similarity between the script then and the story now. Salted with several absorbing sub-plots, Chopra's Naya Daur, the heart-in-the-right-place classic, questions the often overlooked human cost of progress. It pitches men against the machine, and though the story may not have come up with the perfect solution to the eternal struggle between capitalists and masses, the humanist issues it raises nevertheless remain timeless and urgent. All said, should a movie like Naya Daur matter to a growing middle class that is busy plucking the fruits of growth? Does the fight between men and machine hold any relevance when mechanisation has become the symbol of progress? Will rich lyrics and haunting music capture the generation that survives on an overdose of re-mixed music with nasal overtones? On a superficial level, the movie may seem like an anti-machine Luddite diatribe, with its poor, tonga-riding protagonist winning an all-important race against the rich bus-riding capitalist. However, deep down the protagonist delivers a message of inclusive growth when he says: “We don't hate the machine but it should secure our daily meal as well.” In saying this he debunks the myth that what is good for business will eventually trickle down far enough to be good for the rest of us. Chopra manages to deliver the final punch when the millowner reprimands his son: “You took the right step but in the wrong direction!” Stretch these words to understand the nature of expanding businesses of the day and their collusion with the powers-that-be, and one gets a glimpse of anti-democratic feudalism in its most raw and naked form? How different is this from the kings and nobles of old who sucked dry the resources of the people? True to its title, Naya Daur stays ahead of the times. Between rustic romance and earthy camaraderie, between nature's rhythm and haunting melodies, between villainous overtures and defiant postures, the movie never loses direction. Its climactic race between the tonga and the bus, reminiscent of the chariot race in Ben Hur, not only reflects sheer technical excellence but demonstrates the triumph of the human spirit. O P Nayyar's timeless number Saathi haath badhana is an invocation to youth for collective action to secure dignity for all. The message is loud and clear for countless young people content to work at bustling call centres, reduced to cyber coolies for their clients. Naya Daur reminds us to raise questions on the increasing corporate control over peoples' lives and livelihoods. The film is also a grim reminder to the media to uphold the rights of the poor in their unending struggle for survival, as the journalist in Johnny Walker champions Dilip Kumar's cause and prints his story in several newspapers in different languages. The exquisite on-screen chemistry between Dilip Kumar and Vyjayanthimala feeds into the core message of the movie -- production by the masses must take precedence over mass production. Naya Daur is a new-age movie for those who are engaged in a war against abject poverty; for those who are in the business of creating livelihoods; and for those who are donating resources towards peoples' struggles for securing their rights. Naya Daur is also for those who are enamoured of the intensity and possibilities of human relationships; who are mesmerised by haunting melodies; and who are concerned about the manner in which our lives are being taken over. InfoChange News & Features, August 2007
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