Nehma (Sonal Madhushankar) is in the realm between memory and dream. She sees a younger version of herself, gently stroking the rock surfaces in a cave. Early paintings by her ancestors are etched on these rocks. “Is there life in these rocks, too?” her friend, Roshan (Anurag Lugun) inquires. “Yes,” says Nehma. As they run through a freshly harvested field, he asks, “Do the clouds have life in them, too?” “Yes,” comes the reply. “What about this harvested paddy?” he persists. “Yes, that too,” Nehma patiently answers. “My father says that everything around us has life in it,” she explains. “If you put your ear to a rock and listen carefully, you can hear its heartbeat, too.”
Nehma’s innocent, yet profound insights in this scene encapsulate the essence of Humans in the Loop. Directed by Aranya Sahay, the film premiered at the recently concluded MAMI film festival at Mumbai in October. It is another spectacular addition to the steadily growing cluster of indie films that are exploring the hitherto undiscovered landscape of Jharkhand. Humans in the Loop is a visual delight that is both intelligent and poignant in its conception. Narrated in three chapters, it is a coming-of-age story: of an adult, a child and artificial intelligence.
Sahay touches upon the complex social fabric of Adivasi traditions in Jharkhand by showing rituals like Dhuku, but does not pass any moral judgement that usually arrives with an oriental perspective. Instead, he maintains his focus on weaving together a narrative from a remarkably interesting comparison between a child and AI. The chapters of this story are thus, also divided along the same thread of imagination. Enriched by an evocative auralscape, the film lulls you deep into the forests where the Adivasi livelihoods are embedded. Only then is the web of hierarchies uncovered within a community that is otherwise perceived as a monolith by the urban class.
It’s intriguing enough to see a “millennial parental apology” film surface from the Indian indie wave, let alone it being pivoted on the tale of an Oraon woman and her young daughter. But Humans in the Loop brilliantly goes a step beyond the conventions of this emergent trope—through the interrogation of human tendencies in artificial intelligence, it offers redemption to both people and technology.
The root of this redemption lies in a simple idea—what we believe, we become. Thus, the scene described above, about young Nehma’s beliefs, becomes a motif that connects the story across the chapters. When Nehma is questioned by Dhaanu about why she is forcing the knowledge of Adivasi traditions on her—so many years after abandoning her—Nehma’s faith in herself is shaken. When her AI Centre head scolds her for mis-labelling an insect and applying her own insight onto a preordained task, Nehma’s convictions are further unsettled. The motif of young Nehma recurs at this juncture, to say that the heartbeat in the rocks seems lost.
Humans in the Loop is not a dystopic tale of doom. While emphasising the importance of human-nature connection in the Anthropocene, it doesn’t induce despair. Instead, it tries to highlight how it is never too late to rebuild hope. In letting go, there are new beginnings to be found. As she loosens the reins on her daughter Dhaanu’s autonomy, Nehma allows her into her own world of vulnerabilities. When she lets go of her own biases, she finds a way to rework the prejudices of AI, too. In a heartrending acknowledgement of Dhaanu’s anger, Nehma says, “I’ve endured so much, that I failed to see that I could be wrong, too.”
The most beautiful aspect of Humans in the Loop is that it is at once both personal and universal—the restoration of a mother-child relationship becomes a metaphor for the need to reconnect with nature for survival. In the process, Sahay is careful that the Adivasi way of life is visibilised, but not romanticised. His role as the filmmaker remains much like the saahi, the porcupine that Nehma befriended as a child. He quietly guides the story through the socio-cultural landscape, just like the saahi drops its quills to guide Dhaanu when she is lost in the forest—hoping that with the no-frills performances of its protagonists, the story will take a life of its own. And so, it does.
