I Love Bollywood.

As much of a Bollywood freak I may be; how much ever may I be willing to suspend my disbelief; the amount I may enjoy, support, encourage Bollywood and the idea that is doing the rounds – ‘Bollywood cinema has come of age’ – as a woman, Bollywood annoys me and should annoy all women!!
Laura Mulvey, author of the celebrated piece Narrative Cinema and Visual Pleasure , would have had a field day in Bollywood. Mulvey’s basic argument is that the cinematic medium is one where the viewer’s gaze is almost always a male one, i.e. the spectator is by default a man, and so everything, right from the story to the camera angles, the way the film is shot, all are in keeping with what would be most pleasurable to a man. The woman in the film is usually the lesser but necessary other, whose presence and relationship with the male protagonist is significant for narrative development, as well as for the egos of the countless males watching the film, who relate and identify themselves with the hero of the film. In fact, character development is such that it is only possible to identify with the central male protagonist in the film. It is only his emotions that are complex enough, or important enough, or sustained throughout the film, for the audience – male or female to identify with.
Above is a very rough, layman-ish summary of Mulvey’s idea. But what is more important is the instances of mainstream and even alternative Indian cinema which in the present times have shown an inability or refusal (I am yet to find out which it is), to have females as the subjects, or even to give women roles which go beyond that primitive function of being the terms of exchange between two males. The instances of Bollywood movies which follow shall hopefully elucidate my points further:
Let me begin with the newest film on the block – Rab Ne Bana DI Jodi. But before that let me also, unashamedly claim my own extreme liking for the Yash Chopra banner and league of films. I am a die-hard romantic, and have been fed on this romantic fodder for ever since I can recall! True, there has been a whole lot of internalization of romance as portrayed in movies and earlier on it was an uncritical approval of all I used to see on screen. The glamour and the gloss, the impeccably dressed Yash Chopra heroine (something Chopra is renowned for – making his heroines look gorgeous on screen) perhaps distract the viewer from thinking critically. Corny lines and the inevitable happy ending make everything seem alright in the otherwise patriarchal world that commercial Hindi movies create.
Sure, times have changed, at least at a superficial level. There is a lot of theory and jargon floating around. The media is hugely responsible for this, and this has had both its pros and cons. One pro is heightened awareness among people – whether it is filmmakers or the masses. The con is that very often this engagement with theory is not critical enough and gets reduced or remains limited to pop-feminism. So while personally I do appreciate Taani’s bike-riding sequence, where Suri complimentarily tells her that she is Dhoom3, as well as the critique of ‘Macho’ that Suri’s friend Bobby Khosla very seriously recommends and Suri rejects once he learns from Taani that no girl wants a bodyguard, who flaunts his muscles and acts all macho for a boyfriend. These are aspects which do engage with notions of both femininity and masculinity being social constructs – that a girl is capable of riding a bike like John Abraham in Dhoom, or that a man is not innately macho – that it is a performed identity which is not necessarily appealing to women are points that Aditya Chopra is trying to drive home to his varied audiences.
However, what is not interrogated is the larger issue in the film: Suri decides to disguise his identity and be Raj so that he can romance his wife and tell her all the things that he would want to, but are not in keeping with Suri’s character. Now, once he does this – laughs, flirts, dances with Taani as Raj, and is a boring, taciturn husband as Suri, he expects his wife (who he married not out of choice, but chance – note the title at this juncture – Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi – God has made the pair – love born of luck not of the lovers’ own volition) to choose Suri over Raj, without Suri having to change himself, else he would leave her and go away. This choice, that ultimately Taani makes, is what is truly patriarchal about the film – a film which gives you the critique of ‘macho’ and a scene where the heroine is riding the bike with the hero on the pillion - a scene which is actually harmless and fun and gives rise to laughter in the audience. It is not something that would of course be taken seriously.
These scenes exist as tokens to be given perhaps to the female section of the audience – mere lip-service. The larger plot is of course in keeping with what works best to the man’s advantage. It is after all in service of Suri’s ego that the plot works. He insists that Taani has to love Suri for who he is and that he would not change himself to be loved by her, when his friend Bobby Khosla, more sensibly suggests that if Suri also expresses his love for Taani in a similar if not flamboyant style like Raj’s Taani would prefer him to Raj. It becomes a matter of male ego for Suri then, to test who his wife chooses – Suri, her husband, or Raj, he adds with a dramatic pause, who is nobody to her. Love in this context then becomes a test of the age-old category of the virtuous, faithful wife, who must choose her husband over a lover, or a potential lover. In this way, Rab Ne shows how despite all apparent show of progress in terms of skin show, or attitudes, the Indian audiences are still being fed with the same patriarchal ideology by film-makers from whom we expect, if not something revolutionary in terms of social issues, at least a movie devoid of such insidious patriarchal propaganda.
The reason I say this is that I am annoyed at there not being a female Suri. Wait, we do, rather, did. Jassi! Jassi from the Sony serial Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahi, which became a cult for almost as long as it was aired has the loveable, gawky, braces wearing Jassi can easily be compared to Surrinder Sahni from Rab Ne. In fact Suri is not as flawed as Jassi, not quite as quirky. The film and the serial are within five years of each other, and hence the comparison I am attempting to draw holds good as far as both these instances not being divided too much by time. Suri is adamant and does not change. Jassi, in love with her boss Armaan has to transform from the ugly duckling into the beautiful swan. Suri’s gawkiness is dear to him – almost celebrated by him. In fact the makeover bit is easier for him than it is for Jassi - for a man it’s about shaving his moustache and styling the hair; for Jassi it involved a whole lot more (women would vouch for this – in order to look mainstream attractive, what not pain and torture do women put themselves through..!!)
Well, I could go on with descriptions, but my point is, why does the woman have to transform, while the man stubbornly sticks to his unappealing exterior? Where is the female Suri? Where is our male Jassi?? This is patriarchal propaganda at its best. And then we want to ward away possibilities of female anorexia or bulimia? Or we have actresses, sorry female actors demanding that they be addressed in a more politically correct fashion. What’s in a name or a title, when ‘you’ (read we women) are not allowed to be ourselves? Fat or thin, gawky or not, fair or dark, attractive or not!
The only solace I have is in John Abraham – the piece of ass (literally) that is heralding the arrival of the female gaze. If we can’t do away with the utopian notions of transcending externalities of physicality, the only way is to establish equality. If there is no freedom, at least there can be some semblance of an emerging equality.
[For a more interesting and academic take on Freedom and equality, read the article on the given link.]
More on Bollywood and the crap it sells, later.
P.S. I Love Bollywood!!!

Living Out of a Suitcase...

The bohemian life had always been a fantasy - and now I'm living it. First the hostel experience. Life-God-the Cosmos, call it what you will has this strange way of gently breaking me into new experiences. The follow-up of the hostel (my first experience of being away from home was a more settled, organized one) is this nomadic existence I am experiencing in the newest IT city of India - Hyderabad (proud of its newest addition and facet - Cyberabad), has somewhat accomodated me, in my already confused identity of a Punjabi born and brought up in Bengal (read Calcutta/Kolkata).

The two and fro journeys between East Marredpally (see pic) where I have left(read dumped) my stuff with my trusted friend Martin, and Somajiguda (apparently the fourth most expensive locality the city of Nizams boasts of) where I am putting up with friends (some new, one old) is an experience that I know I will remember and cherish in my years of settled life yet to come. [Or will they?]

The point being - in this moment of transit, of doubt, punctuated by moments of self-doubt and questioning, I am experiencing what I had imagined and craved for in my growing years. Am I enjoying it as much as I should? I don't know... Perhaps it's only in retrospect that I'll be able to tell. Or will I have romanticized it so much by then, that it would have subtracted from the mundane reality that it also has to offer?

The cliché to the rescue - Only Time can tell!!