Unbroken Glass is a warm, sad, endearing and sometimes funny
documentary centered on an Indian immigrant family. Dinesh Sabu, the youngest of five children,
attempts to piece together the lives of his parents that tragically died a
month apart when he was just six years old.
Their deaths left the five children to raise each other and cope with
the loss. Densely packed with several
themes, Sabu’s work explores the lives of his parents and the themes of loss,
marriage, mental illness, acculturation, religion, and even gender roles. With few memories of his own to rely on, Sabu
must turn to interviews with his siblings and other relatives to find out who
his parents really were.
We learn through the narratives that the father died of
stomach cancer and the children were not prepared ahead of time for his
death. Sabu is merely informed one day
when he gets home from school that his father is gone. His mother then dies less than a month later
by her own hand after battling schizophrenia through most of her adult life. Undoubtedly, the stigma of mental illness and
suicide are major factors in the silence that was maintained by the family.
The film deals with her illness, and the childrens’
experience of it; how she was available to them sometimes, and sometimes not,
as she would lapse into a cold and catatonic state. Their recollection of their parents’ marriage
was as of a stormy one—their fights sometimes devolved into shouting and
physical altercations. Still, despite
false accusations of infidelity from his wife, their father stayed and
soldiered on. He coped by burying
himself in his work, perhaps resigning himself as her caretaker. One of the children commented that without
someone to care for them, many schizophrenics end up on the street—which may
well have been the fate of their mother without their father.
It’s clear that the mother attempted to fit in to the U.S. despite
her traditional Hindi upbringing– the family uncovers old photographs show her
in modern American dress that would be deemed scandalous by the standards of
homeland. Sabu nicely contrasts his
mother’s acculturation with his own attempt to reconnect to his family’s native
culture as he prepares for a wedding
in India. Yet, despite her own admittance to medical
school, the mother foregoes a professional life and marries a man that is well
educated and has a future—adopting traditional Indian gender roles.
We learn that schizophrenia runs in the family and that
there have been multiple suicides in his family tree that resulted from
it. This fact provokes the painful
decision of whether to take on that risk by having children. One of the sisters weighs her thoughts during
the interviewing and decided that she will, in fact, take the plunge. We are left to wonder whether any of these
five or their children will succumb to the family curse. We wonder also whether the mother’s genetic
predisposition was triggered by the stress of moving to America.
This film conjures up another excellent book of the same
genre: The Lost: A Search for Six of the
Six Million by Daniel Mendelsohn. In his
book, Mendelsohn, a descendant of Holocaust victims, took up the challenge of learning
about his great aunt, great uncle, and their four daughters to discover exactly
who those six people were. Like Sabu, Mendelsohn’s family was encased in
silence about them until he discovered some letters that piqued his curiosity
and he spun out a wonderful mystery book from the fragmentary bits available to
him. It seems that we often have an almost innate
drive to tell the story of our blood, especially when it is tinged by tragedy
or misunderstanding. It gives meaning to
the lives that are gone and helps us to come to a better understanding of
ourselves.
I told a friend that the film provoked the question of what
my children will say about my wife and I after we are gone. My friend said, “Why don’t you ask them
now?” It wouldn’t do any good. That
story is still in progress and while memories may be a bit clearer, you do not
gain perspective until much time passes and you are able to go through all the
photographs, read the letters, and visit the places they inhabited. Because of the parent/child bond, they are
unlikely to give you a candid view. Often,
our complete stories will not be able to be told until long after we are gone.
Sabu does all that in a warm, yet painful way that will
provoke questions and thoughts that linger for days after. Despite
the tragedy and years of silence, one can detect an underlying tensile strength
in the family. We are on another level
awed by the resiliency and resourcefulness of this family that survived a
terrible tragedy. This is a surprisingly complex short film that can be viewed
through several different lenses.