In this blog post, I will examine how the redevelopment of Putri Village has affected the lives and identities of traditional artists through an analysis of the documentary’s form and sequences.
Form/Theme Analysis
From the perspective of Bill Nichols’ six genres of documentary, this film combines elements of observational and participatory documentary. While observing real events and capturing the characters’ stories, it actively utilizes interviews to guide the narrative flow naturally. The director maintains a balance by refraining from direct intervention while still intervening when empathy with the subjects is needed.
For example, when the official announcement of the redevelopment permit confirmed that the village would disappear, the director captured the subject’s distressed voice during the interview, revealing that he empathizes with their struggles and pain. At the end of the documentary, a website address is displayed, encouraging viewers to visit it directly if they wish to hear more of the story. This goes beyond the director’s participation to create a space for audience engagement. When I visited the website to check on the situation, I learned that the government is pressuring residents who refuse to relocate, and there have even been incidents where villagers were assaulted following the deployment of state forces. The documentary may have physically concluded, but it leaves a message that their story continues through the audience’s participation. In conclusion, the two styles blend appropriately, achieving a balance without leaning too heavily in either direction.
Another notable point is the director’s attention to visual aesthetics. While it may not quite qualify as a “poetic documentary,” the use of slow-motion footage—captured via high-speed filming—to showcase the expressions of traditional artists effectively conveys their pride and authenticity through the screen. Despite being a documentary, it possesses the strong visual appeal of a feature film.
The director captures the characters’ stories with a gaze filled with deep affection. While following the standard structure of modern documentaries—centering on interviews while incorporating archival footage to maintain objectivity—I focused more on the changes Putri Village underwent over the four-year period and the resulting conflicts and psychological shifts among the characters than on the documentary’s structure itself. Below, I analyze what the characters intended to convey and what the director sought to express through each sequence.
Sequence Analysis
The reason for selecting this work stemmed from the question, “Are we a slum, or are we artists?” As a small Indian village faced the loss of its home due to redevelopment policies, there was concern that what they stood to lose was not merely physical space, but also their identity as artists. Watching the documentary felt like reading a novel whose ending I already knew. Realistically, I wondered how they could store, play, and march with instruments weighing over 70 kg, stilts over 5 meters long, and life-sized puppets once they moved into cramped apartments. Nevertheless, hoping they would hold out until the end, I watched the film all the way through.
The first sequence begins with an interview with Purān (a traditional puppeteer), one of the central figures in this documentary. We see scenes of casual conversation and the group moving to the interview location, but the most important words are these: “We’ll be evicted from here soon, but I’d like you to capture what our house looks like on film. That way, we can remember it even after this village is demolished. Please film every single room. Then later, we’ll be able to say, ‘This is how we lived.’” The documentary begins this way, cruelly foreshadowing that these houses will soon disappear. The audience naturally begins to wonder why so many of these houses must be demolished.
The second sequence features black-and-white archival footage of traditional artists. Past and present performances are intercut and connected by a single audio track; the scenes are so similar that, were it not for the black-and-white format and the use of high-speed photography, it would be difficult to distinguish between past and present. This powerfully demonstrates that the traditional arts of Kartputri Village have been passed down from the past to the present. Personally, I found the title sequence particularly striking: after showing a fire show in the dark via high-speed photography, the scene where the title “TOMORROW WE DISAPPEAR” appears as the flames fade perfectly captures the director’s intent. The contrast between the spectacle that burns brilliantly before vanishing and the small ember left in the corner conveys the message.
From the third sequence onward, the story of 2011 unfolds in earnest. The name and history of the village of Putri, as well as Puran’s career—including his role as a cultural ambassador introducing Indian traditional theater to the world and his receipt of the Presidential Award—are introduced through interviews and reference footage. This reveals that Puran takes deep pride in traditional arts and clearly identifies himself as an artist.
The fourth sequence tells the story of street magician Rehman Shah. He says, “At first, I thought simply: I had to perform to buy flour… Later, I realized it wasn’t just a means to make money. It’s truly fascinating work.” In this sequence, views of the village, rooftops, dark alleys, women, and street parades are juxtaposed with images of elevated highways and passing cars, hinting at the change with the line, “Now the city has moved in…” Along with Rehman’s story, it shows that the village of Putri has been caught in a whirlwind of change.
The fifth sequence tells the story of acrobat Maya Pawar. Interviews and training footage are shown, detailing the rigorous training she underwent and the efforts she made to master difficult techniques in an environment where her entire family are acrobats. She says, “I’m proud to live in an artists’ village, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to achieve the dreams I want to fulfill.” This shows that she hasn’t lost her artistic identity, but rather has gained a new perspective that recognizes the village’s transformation. This change becomes even more evident in a scene where the police stop Lehman’s street performance and demand money. Purin comforts him by retelling Lehman’s story through a small puppet show, but he begins to sense that the treatment of the villagers is changing.
The sixth sequence begins with a news clip. “Increasing demand for high-rise buildings…, development is essential…, India’s skyline is changing. “Regulations on high-rise buildings have been lifted… Katputri’s land was sold to a developer. Delhi’s first high-rise building…” Villagers look at the front page of a newspaper. As the core of the changes, which had been hidden in previous sequences, is now formalized through the media, everyone in the village feels the impending changes in their bones. The residents’ representative calls a meeting to hear their concerns, but the clash of opinions only leads to raised voices. Next comes a scene of an interview with Puran. The director speaks to Puran for the first time after he has been silent for a long while, seemingly troubled, and Puran says he is fine. He goes into his doll room and expresses his emotions through the dolls; the sight of the doll wiping away tears reveals that the director is not merely a documentarian but a participant who empathizes with their worries and pain.
The seventh sequence takes place in 2012, as the changes begin in earnest. Footage from a census conducted by the Delhi Development Authority features diverse families who have lived here since birth or for decades, and it is here that the differing opinions among the characters truly come to light. Maya, an acrobat, says she wants a job related to computers, but her mother expresses a realistic pessimism, claiming that due to a past accident, Maya will never be able to marry. Maya loves the artists’ village, but for her, it is a cruel reality and a place she wants to leave. On the other hand, Puran believes the village must be protected, saying, “If something is precious, you mustn’t let it disappear…”
The eighth sequence directly reveals the conflict between the developers and the villagers. The residents go to the Delhi court to submit a petition, but the situation worsens. Street performances are banned, and the children are teased for coming from the slums. Puran draws a map of the village as he envisions it, but the reality is littered with trash. Maya says, “We have to accept the apartments. The people here don’t think about the future. Everyone can make a fresh start.” Some articulate reasons to stay, while others justify reasons to leave.
In the ninth sequence, the government announces the results of the census. When the conclusion is revealed—that only 2,500 out of 3,000 households will receive apartments, meaning roughly 25% of the residents will lose their homes—the people strive to demonstrate their utmost effort. Hoping to share their art and be remembered, they don traditional puppet masks, ride stilts over 5 meters tall, carry instruments weighing over 70 kg, and perform magic tricks while chanting together: “We are birds in flight. We come today and vanish tomorrow.” What they hope for is not merely the land, but that their traditional arts will also be remembered.
In the tenth sequence, the relocation is set to begin soon. To receive an apartment, residents must sign a move-in agreement; those who refuse to sign will not receive a home. With the land about to disappear, who could possibly refuse to sign? Increasingly, people are agreeing to the relocation for the sake of their children’s future. The villagers visit the temporary housing site to raise concerns with the developer, but most end up signing. Puran signs as well. In this scene, the director reappears and asks the magician, “Will you keep performing magic even after leaving Kartputri Village?” but for a long while, only the magician’s silent face is shown.
The eleventh sequence takes place in 2013, when the temporary housing is completed. People complain, “It’s like a chicken coop. A prison would be better,” but this is where they must live for the next several years. The cold, sterile containers—a stark contrast to the village where they used to perform street theater and play music despite the filth—look even more miserable. Puran visits a national cultural heritage exhibition, sees a building similar to the house he used to live in, and realizes that “now, houses like this can only be seen at exhibitions.” Next, a scene shows a magician preparing a street performance with his son; a sigh-laden remark, “The world seems to be moving so fast. I wish it would just stop for a moment”; and images of traditional artists—puppeteers, visual artists, and acrobats—are shown in slow motion, making the scene feel almost surreal.
The twelfth sequence shows news footage from 2014 of Kartputri residents protesting their eviction. The residents are using traditional art to question politicians. The documentary concludes with the voice of a reporter on the scene: “They are using works of art to ask politicians: Why must they leave their hometown, a place that symbolizes India’s art and culture and where they have lived for decades?” The director consistently raises fundamental questions about why they must leave, emphasizing that their home is not merely a slum but a living space for artists steeped in tradition.
Summary and Reflections
Watching this documentary, I found myself pondering one question for a long time: “Are we a slum, or are we artists?” While I personally hoped they would hold onto their artistic identity until the very end, the documentary shows that people with vastly different perspectives coexist there. Even if people leave the village to make a fresh start and cease their former artistic activities, who can definitively say they are no longer artists? It was only after the documentary ended that I realized anew that the question of who is an artist is ultimately one we must ask and answer for ourselves.
Some will choose a new beginning, while others will strive to preserve traditional art even if their circumstances change. I feel that the diverse experiences and lessons gained along the way are what truly matter. The logline I wrote down at the end is as follows.
“What is the spark that won’t be extinguished even by a fierce wind?”
Through this documentary, I felt the need to reflect on my own direction—whether I am someone heading toward a new beginning or someone striving to preserve tradition. I think I need to give a little more thought to where my identity is headed.
