Hindi cinema fails the feminist test 100 years on, says Lalitha Dhara
PATRIARCHAL ATTITUDES are so deeply entrenched in our society and psyche that we fail to recognise them for what they are. Sexist jokes pass off as humour. Offensive, insulting and oppressive practices involving women are perpetuated in the garb of tradition or ‘parampara’. Women and men are stereotyped in ways that dehumanise them.
Nowhere is this dichotomy reflected more vividly than in the mass media, particularly in films, television, and advertising. If advertising is forever projecting the woman as a commodified object for male consumption, television thrives on idealising and projecting them as meek, submissive, passive housewives or scheming sirens – in either case clamouring for the attention of men! Mainstream cinema, being dynamic and larger than life, only magnifies these sexist images manifold creating its own brand of distortion. Thus we have ‘item numbers’ being passed off as ‘Bollywood dance’ and ‘eve teasing’ and ‘sexual harassment’ of the heroine by the so-called hero leading to romance between them. We must be aware and alive to this sexist imagery and its impact on the viewers, leading to increasing incidents of violence against women as has been witnessed in recent times around the country.
Hundred years ago, when Dadasaheb Phalke, also known as the Father of Indian Cinema, established the motion picture as a form of entertainment for the masses, his messages reflected mythological and swadeshi sentiments. Over the years, audiences have been treated to lavish romantic musicals, melodramas as well as plots that sensitively reflected the life of the working-class. From Awaara (1951), Baiju Bawra (1952), Do Bigha Zamin (1953), Mother India (1957) and Mughal-e-Azam (1960) to Sholay, Deewar (1975) to Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995) and recently Dabangg (2010 and 2012), as filmmaking grew to new heights in terms of quality, cinematography as well as technical advances in special effects, and so on, story lines have only been devaluing the role that women play in them.
Let’s look at three fairly recent mainstream movies from a gender perspective. While two, namely ‘Munnabhai MBBS’ and ‘Rang De Basanti’, are cult films that earned much credit and fame for their directors, the third, ‘Paheli’, written-directed by the well-known couple, Sandhya Gokhale and Amol Palekar, did not capture the nation’s imagination. Though the theme and sentiment of the first two were be laudable, the sexism they portrayed is condemnable. ‘Paheli’, in contrast, shone with a rare feminist sensibility that went completely unnoticed.
‘Munnabhai MBBS’, released sometime in early 2004, was a big hit. A ‘fun film’, which also took on the rigid, hierarchical medical system, was remade in Tamil and there was also a sequel. Unfortunately, amidst all the laughter and frolic, what has been missed out completely is that ‘Munnabhai…’ promotes sexism, machoism and anarchy sugar-coated in the form of the small-time don with a king-sized heart.
What spurs our hero into becoming a doctor? His need to avenge Dr Asthana, the dean of a medical college who exposed him (and rightly so) before his parents. How will he accomplish this mission? By ‘becoming’ a doctor and marrying his daughter, Chinky! It does not occur to him that Chinky would also have a say in the matter. Oh no! Heroes (on screen or off) propose and heroines have to fall in line or else beware, a can of acid is always handy.
How does our larger-than-life, older than the woods, tenth class fail hero become a doctor? By faking his eligibility marks card, forcing a proxy at gunpoint to write his entrance exams and barging his way into classrooms. Not content with having his way, he pooh-poohs medical wisdom and substitutes it with his own solution – ‘Jadoo ki jhappi’, a warm hug – all this in the name of taking on the system.
Agreed that the medical establishment is riddled with problems but can one counter authoritarianism with anarchy, whether in fun or in seriousness? The film is replete with sexist remarks, too – ‘I will get this entire hospital as dowry…’ the hero quips. ‘What you need is a wife to cook for you and wash your clothes…’ he tells the dying patient, Zaheer. Since Zaheer has not ‘handled’ a woman, the situation is made good by ‘providing’ one for him to experience… Does the film still tickle your funny bone?
Okay, now how about throwing the spotlight on the much talked and written about Aamir Khan starrer ‘Rang De Basanti’. Even as it has been appreciated for its tight script, deft editing, intelligent direction; it has been criticised for its crass jingoism and distortion of history. Viewing the film through feminist tinted glasses glaringly exposes its sexist overtones.
Evidence for this is there right at the start when protagonist Sue swears at her female boss, blurting: ‘Teri maa ki aankh’. Not content with making a woman mouth “your mother’s vagina” as a swear word against another woman, the director, Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, repeats it when friends, Sue and Sonia meet and gloat over the sexist usage.
As the film progresses, constantly juxtaposing past male comradeship with present male camaraderie, it becomes obvious that this is essentially a story about male bonding. The few female characters there serve as mother, girlfriend or lover – mere appendages to the ‘heroes’. Witness how DJ (played by Khan) gushes to his mother, “Dek, tere vaste kitni soni cheez laya hoon (See, what a lovely thing I have got for you)”, as he shows off the fair-skinned Sue as his girlfriend.
The film would have us believe: All angry young men are just that – MEN. Behind every angry young man is a woman – mother, wife, girlfriend, lover – supporting, cajoling, praying, crying but never acting on her own. Men have achieved, achieve (even when such achievement amounts to destruction), and therefore will continue to achieve.
So, what sets the otherwise mediocre box office offering, ‘Paheli’, apart? It is a simple but profound tale of a woman who loves and is loved with equal intensity. Set in rural Rajasthan, it explores life, love and work through the prism of a woman’s sensibilities. Betrayed by her uncouth, uncaring husband on her wedding night, the devastated Rani rejects him and accepts, in his place, an honest and sensitive ghost, who offers his unconditional love to her. This is made easy as her husband conveniently vanishes from the scene in search of wealth and the ‘bhoot’ lover takes the physical form of her husband.
The relation between the two is the stuff that dreams are made of. It has love, tenderness, fun, feeling, friendship, passion and respect in equal measure. And all this amidst the ordinariness of humdrum life lived within the confines of purdah in a large, rural joint Marwadi family!
What is all this stuff about ghosts and so on, you may well ask. Such skeptics and cynics (I am one of them) can interpret the film as a woman’s ultimate fantasy – that of a loving, caring, and equal partner.
The film is feminist one from start to finish. Look at it any which way. No item numbers here with skimpy cholies. The camera does not drool over body parts but captures and celebrates colour, exuberance and the collective spirit in nature (of which humans are, but, a part). No conniving sirens. No macho males strutting their stuff. In short, no worn-out stereotypes!
There is a moral to this feminist fable and it is loud and clear. Women will no longer sit around accept their fate a la Savitri or Sita nor hang around for their husbands to reform while they perform karva chauths and assorted rituals for their well being. Women will assess, evaluate and move on and they will do it here and now, not seven janams (lifetimes) later. (WFS)
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