South Asian Popular Culture
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Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen: Remaking the queens of Bollywood
Sukanya Gupta
To cite this article: Sukanya Gupta (2015) Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen: Remaking the queens of Bollywood , South Asian Popular Culture, 13:2, 107-123, DOI: 10.1080/14746689.2015.1087107 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14746689.2015.1087107
Published online: 01 Oct 2015.
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Download by: [University of Washington Libraries] Date: 20 February 2017, At: 23:40 South Asian Popular Culture, 2015 Vol. 13, No. 2, 107–123, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14746689.2015.1087107
Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen: Remaking the queens of Bollywood Sukanya Gupta*
English Department, University of Southern Indiana, Evansville IN, USA
Bollywood’s depiction of its female characters tends to be regressive. Recently, how- ever, movies like Kahaani (2012), Queen (2014) and Gulaab Gang (2014) depict a limited presence of male characters or no male protagonist, thus focusing all attention on the female character and its development. Examining the construction/depiction of the Indian woman free from a validating male presence, this paper discusses the new trend in Bollywood post-2010 and views it as an indirect response to both the increasing role women are playing in the Indian economy and the rising violence directed towards Indian women in the twenty-first century. Introducing six tropes common to Kahaani, Queen and Gulaab Gang to analyze the new trend, the paper argues that these movies offer a nuanced understanding of the Indian woman by implicating the audience and its perception of female characters, and by simultane- ously highlighting the inherent multiplicities within the seemingly homogenous cate- gory of Indian femininity. Depicted as individuals first and not symbols of family and nation, these new queens of popular Bollywood films set a precedent, provide some much needed inspiration and become empowered role models that resonate with the population.
Introduction In popular Bollywood films, female characters generally do not have much meaning without their male counterparts. Considering how long Indian cinema has been around, this reductive depiction of women is lamentable.1 Even when these women are assertive and capable when necessary of avenging their loved ones, they are primarily seen as symbols of family, patriarchy and nation. The development of female characters is rarely an emphasis, and the heroines are often just pretty faces who may be instrumental in moving the plot forward as the male character’s inspiration/weakness, but do not con- tribute much to the action or resolution of the film. Recently, however, movies like Dirty Picture (2011), Kahaani (2012), Rajjo (2013), Mardaani (2014), Bobby Jasoos (2014), Revolver Rani (2014), Queen (2014), Gulaab Gang (2014) and Mary Kom (2014) are changing the gender dynamics in Bollywood. These movies have either lim- ited presence of a male character, or a not-so-famous male actor paired opposite a rela- tively well-known lead female protagonist, and even sometimes a missing male protagonist – thus focusing all attention on the female character and its development and portraying the realities of the ordinary Indian woman. For my purposes in this paper I focus on Kahaani (d. Sujoy Ghosh, 2012), Gulaab Gang (d. Soumik Sen, 2014) and Queen (d. Vikas Bahl, 2014), where a male protago- nist is absent, and identify six common tropes in these movies that subvert Bollywood’s
*Email: [email protected]
© 2015 Taylor & Francis 108 S. Gupta reductive, traditional delineation of its female characters. To narrate their female charac- ters, these movies: (1) have an element of surprise that forces audiences to confront their assumptions about women; (2) emphasize the absence of any connections between women and sensuality; (3) reject a direct correlation between the morality/purity of a woman and her fate; (4) ensure lack of male intervention in the action/resolution of the film; (5) limit the portrayal of sexual violence such that it is often absent, and (6) dis-attach the female character from traditional/patriarchal values. As I will show, these tropes prevent a homogenization of the lead female characters by steering away from some of the popular methods of depicting them (i.e., raunchy song and dance numbers, transparent sarees blowing in the wind, and so on). The tropes may or may not have occurred individually in other Bollywood movies, but in the three movies I analyze these occur concurrently and thus present a trend. These movies are not essentially from the perspective of the female characters – for example, the lead female protagonists are not narrating the plot through a voiceover – but the tropes employed by directors Sujoy Ghosh, Soumik Sen and Vikas Bahl compel the audience to give the characters all the respect and seriousness attributed to male protagonists. Through my analysis of the tropes and their functions in the movies, I argue that Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen offer a nuanced understanding of the Indian woman by implicating the audience and its perception of female characters, and by simultane- ously highlighting the inherent multiplicities within the seemingly homogenous category of Indian femininity. As the audience encounters the different versions of womanhood onscreen, it is forced to confront the various stereotypes it has about women. The movies make it abundantly clear that there is no one Indian woman, and it is no longer possible to present the Indian woman onscreen as a symbol of India. Characters like Vidya (from Kahaani), Rajjo (from Gulaab Gang), and Rani (from Queen) fight their own battles, refuse to be objectified and labeled as weak, and either act as agents of their fates or of social change. By showing that women can exist and have meaning beyond the confines of patriarchy and social expectations, these new queens of popular Bollywood films set a precedent, provide some much needed inspiration, and become empowered role models that resonate with the population. Primarily concerned with Ka- haani, Gulaab Gang and Queen and their construction/depiction of the Indian woman free from a validating male presence, this paper also contends that the new trend – of the passive or missing male protagonist and an all-important female protagonist – in Hindi cinema after 2010 is an indirect response to the increasing role that women are playing in today’s economy; to the young, female actors who desire more substantial roles and to the rising violence directed towards Indian women in the twenty-first century. Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen show how female protagonists create their iden- tity by highlighting three important changes in a post-liberalized twenty-first-century India – that of the avenging woman (who is portrayed less as a wronged victim and more as an agent of her fate), the self-empowering rural women (who are no longer waiting for government support or changing social attitudes) and of the modern family (that supports individuality more than tradition). Although Kahaani belongs to the Bollywood genre of the avenging woman (showcased in movies like Insaaf ka Tarazu (1980) and Pratighaat (1987), which are critical of violence against women yet, for example, show rape scenes periodically: see Gopalan), it nevertheless rewrites the genre by providing the audience with far less onscreen violence against women. The movie concentrates on how the female protagonist avenges her husband’s death through her willpower and intelligence. Gulaab Gang addresses the issue of the stereotypical, South Asian Popular Culture 109 ever-backward rural woman. While it may be argued that rural Indian women cannot access the benefits of a modernizing India, by depicting a real life hero, Sampat Pal Devi, the movie shows rural women as active. The inspirational plot demonstrates that at some level both urban and rural Indian women are fighting for recognition and respect – and that success, even for the rural woman, is an actual possibility. Queen starts with the increasingly changing role that families can play in the life of a woman. Today families are moving away from ‘sukhi parivar (prosperity) to khushi parivar (fun)’ (Sinha 134). The focus is less on traditions and culture and more on individual happiness of family members. The movie makes it quite clear that without the support of her family, the main character, Rani, would not have been able to travel and her subsequent self-discovery would have never happened.
Bollywood ‘heroines’ of the past Bollywood’s struggle to portray women with more agency reflects India’s own confu- sion about the status of Indian women. There are inconsistencies between how women are often simultaneously treated as objects (rape; dowry deaths; female infanticide, etc.) and as guardians of culture and tradition. Indian mythology’s portrayal of women offers contradictory theories as well. On one side of the spectrum there are the much-cele- brated goddesses of wealth (Laxmi) and wisdom (Saraswati) and the much feared/rev- ered physically strong goddesses like Kali and Durga. On the other side, there are victims and sufferers like Sita and Savitri. Critics such as Fareed Kazmi (63), for example, have pointed out that:
The subconscious hold of socialization patterns inculcated in girls through the popular mythological stories of the ever suffering Sita as virtuous wife, or the all suffering Savitri who rescues her husband from death are all part of the preparation for suffering in the roles of wives and mothers. Further support for such ideological notions is embedded in popular cultural productions such as films … the dominant message is that of suffering as purifying, even inevitable, for a woman.
Bollywood’s obsession with the Sita/Savitri image has inspired many movies. To name just a few: Satyawan Savitri (1948), Sati Savitri (1964), Seeta Aur Geeta (1972), Maha Sati Savitri (1973), Doosri Sita (1974), Raadha Aur Seeta (1979), Sitapur ki Geeta (1987), Kalyug Aur Ramayan (1987) and Rampur ki Sita (1988). The focus of these movies has largely been on the purity of a woman by cloaking her identity and sexual- ity within the frameworks provided by tradition and religio-cultural norms. While in some of these movies the female characters represent Sita/Savitri (as in Maha Sati Savitri), in others the connection to the Sita/Savitri metaphor is more impli- cit. For example, in movies like Seeta Aur Geeta and Rampur ki Sita, the female characters do not directly symbolize the mythological goddess Sita. Actors Hema Malini and Madhavi have double roles. In both movies, the twin who is named Sita knows how to cook and clean and is an obedient daughter but when challenged she fails to stand up for herself. Yet her weakness/submissiveness is never criticized. Even as the other twin (Geeta in Seeta Aur Geeta and Rani in Rampur ki Sita) is portrayed as a strong woman, there is an underlying notion that the Sitas are far more worthy women. Thus Geeta may be the feisty twin who takes charge of her life, but she is also pre- sented as a crude street dancer who does not know how to cook or sew. Concurrent with this ‘unladylike’ image is a certain childishness that Geeta is also associated with. 110 S. Gupta
Scenes early on in the movie suggest that she spends a lot of time playing/fighting with children. Later on when she is trying to put Seeta’s evil aunt in place, Geeta is shown swinging from a ceiling fan. Thus the film does not allow us to take her too seriously. The 1990s – when censorship of movies like Khalnayak (1993) ‘reveals how female sexuality was considered a threat to traditional Indian culture and Indian womanhood by the patriarchal alliance of the state, Hindu nationalist discourse, and the viewing public’ (Bose 22) – saw the birth of blockbusters like Hum Aapke Hain Koun (1994), Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995) and Pardes (1997) that do not employ the Sita/Savitri metaphor but portray self-sacrificing female characters who are either inspired by Sita’s values or symbolize other goddesses. For example, Pardes draws close parallels between Ganga, the lead female character, and ‘Ganga Maiya’ (Mother Ganges – the goddess who flows as the holiest river in India), and the film revolves around the vari- ous men in her life obsessively guarding her sexual purity. Arguably, the 1990s Ganga is a step ahead of the Sita/Savitri of erstwhile years as audiences get to hear more of what she wants. For example, although she is rarely disobedient, Ganga refuses to marry the NRI her parents choose when he attempts to rape her. The cancelled wedding, however, is ultimately a victory for patriarchal values highlighted in the film, as Ganga remains a symbol of India’s purity and innocence that cannot be polluted by the NRI groom who, corrupted by Western values, believes in sex before marriage. As Rupal Oza argues in ‘The New Liberal Indian Woman and Globalization’, the lead female characters of the 1990s may explore their individualities but they also safely remain within the bounds of tradition and patriarchy. The new millennium saw the rise of movies like Jism (2002), Aitraaz (2004), Mur- der (2004) and Salaam Namaste (2006) that depict women openly expressing and acting out on their sexual desires. However, these movies seem to position women more as a problem – as the one ‘who lights the fuse, and the resultant hard-to-douse flames, scald everyone, especially the male protagonist’ (Kazmi 311). Secondary to the male protago- nist, these women are anxiety-ridden for the choices they make and are seen as instiga- tors of trouble/temptresses. For example, unlike Ganga (in Pardes) from the previous decade, the female character, Ambar (played by Preity Zinta), in Salaam Namaste can- not be protected from the polluting Western values as she chooses an education abroad over marriage. During her adventures in Australia, she meets Nikhil (played by Saif Ali Khan) and moves in with him only to become predictably pregnant. Her desire to become a surgeon is no longer a concern, as the rest of the movie is primarily about the challenges Ambar and Nikhil face before they are united. Nikhil’s career, however, is not put on hold, although he is in financial troubles and Ambar is seen as the cause. This movie illustrates a standard Bollywood trope – the male character settles down to a career and the female character, happily married to him, opts for family life. The woman as noble sufferer of the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s, the New Woman of the 1990s, or the sexually awakened woman of the twenty-first century do little to depict the ground realities of life for Indian women today who do not wish to be placed on a pedestal or to become the ruin of men. Over a century of films later Bollywood continues to depict its heroines reductively. As Anvita Madan-Bahel (39) writes in Sexual Health and Bollywood Films: A Culturally Based Program for South Asian Teenage Girls:
Unfortunately, the ideal woman, as portrayed by Bollywood, is traditional, submissive and conservative. Women who are ‘modern’ or ‘liberal thinking’ are portrayed in a negative light. Violence against women in the form of rape or sexual harassment is shown frequently South Asian Popular Culture 111
since filmmakers view it as being a popular demand by young men, who comprise the majority of film viewers … Few popular films show women revolting against abuse … When female victims are portrayed as social change agents, it is considered art/parallel cin- ema (interchangeably used for films with social causes), which has little commercial value.
While art/parallel cinema sometimes deals with women’s issues and may have a feminist perspective, owing to its ‘little commercial value’ it cannot disseminate to the masses any positive images of women it creates. Yet owing to the role that it plays in both depicting and furthering the objectification of women, popular culture is often an unreliable medium for voicing women’s issues. Even when popular culture revolves around the plight of women (in soap operas like Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi and Bollywood films like Lajja) it doesn’t hesitate to show women as ultimately dependent on male protagonists. As Ruchika Tulshyan points out in ‘Bollywood is Failing the Women of India’, the Hindi film industry has not always been sensitive to women. However, given that ‘more than one-third of India’s billion inhabitants regularly watch television’ (Munshi 5), the growing reach of popular culture can make it one of the best vehicles for prompting social change. Commenting on the power of Indian cinema, Vijay Mishra writes: ‘Made unabashedly for popular consumption, it is perhaps the single most powerful cultural artifact of modern India: no change can take place without its tacit approval’ (33). Although Bollywood can be a crucial vehicle of social change, it has only just harnessed this power with Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen.
Changing socio-economic factors and the birth of a new trend post 2010 Empowerment of women in India has been on the agenda since the nineteenth century. Yet feminism then – geared towards the upper classes and Brahmins – was restricted in its scope (Ghosal 794). While activists like Mahatma Phule and Tarabai Shinde have done much to draw attention to the plight of Indian women, Indian nationalism and its model of Indian womanhood
reflected a kind of Victorianized patibrata and allied value system with emphasis on upper caste morality and concept of purity. An idea of extremely fragile feminine moral vulnera- bility was inherent in this concept. (Ghosal 797)
After 1970, tired of not seeing women respected as equal participants in India’s development, ‘a sense of discontent’ developed among academicians and administration alike (Ghosal 800). The resulting women’s organizations, NGOs, protective laws and even social movements like Chipko that developed over the 1980s, however, are still struggling to protect women. Even though
Free India has, besides her woman prime minister, women ambassadors, women cabinet ministers, women legislators, women governors, women scientists, engineers-doctors-space researchers-giant IT specialists, women Generals, women public officers, judiciary officers and in many more responsible positions (Bhuyan 60),
Western notions of femininity (evident mostly in urban spaces) and traditional Indian values (prominent in both urban and rural areas) still objectify women. There have also been several challenges to the growing presence of women in public spaces. The sudden rise in the number of women being abused in this past decade is 112 S. Gupta disturbing. Data compiled by the National Crime Records Bureau shows that incidents of rape alone have risen by 873% from 1953 to 2011 and by 9.7% between 2007 and 2011.2 These numbers may simply illustrate that an increasing number of Indian women are choosing to report rape. However, it cannot be denied that despite changing laws, the work of NGOs, activists and women’s organizations, and the increasing visibility of women in leadership roles, women are still struggling to be seen as equal to their male counterparts. While ‘the enormous spike in rape incidents has been ascribed, in urban areas, to women joining the workforce and facing aggressive male resistance; and in rural areas to the all-pervasive caste system’, journalist Kishwar Desai also believes that the root cause is an India that was not prepared for the sudden growth of the Indian economy brought in by the economic liberalization of the 1990s. She writes:
India is grappling with a lost generation of those who were born after economic liberaliza- tion but are ill-educated, unemployed – and mostly, male. According to the International Labour (sic.) Organization, India saw a growth in joblessness between 2004 and 2009. Unemployment and poverty are common features among the gangs who rape. In this envi- ronment and within a patriarchal structure, violence is one of the few things that can com- mand respect. As young men become increasingly unable to participate in the ‘India shining’ fairytale, they reassert their identities, and power, in a savage and cruel act.
Better opportunities in the urban areas as opposed to the rural areas have also encour- aged more families to migrate to the urban areas in hopes of success. While analyzing the 2012 brutal gang rape of Jyoti Singh Pandey in a public bus, Jason Burke provides a profile of the four rapists:
all representative of a substantial element of contemporary Indian society … semi-skilled and poorly educated … migrants from the country to the town – four of the millions of individuals who over recent decades have converted an almost entirely rural country into an increasingly urbanized one.
The situation is not too different in smaller states. Discussing the case of Haryana, which also suffers from ‘the lowest female-to-male ratio in India’ (Denyer 34), activists such as Suneeta Tyagi argue ‘gang-rape is emerging as a major new trend’ (Denyer 34) because
there is a growing tribe of young men who have no jobs or education. Nobody wants to marry their daughters off to them. Their frustration results in such heinous crimes. (qtd. in Denyer 34)
Although it may be argued that unemployment, poverty and rural-urban migration are not the primary factors in violence against women, it cannot be denied that the three economic problems play an important role in the increasingly common phenomena of gang rape. Women are progressively visible in public spaces, and as Desai, quoted ear- lier, points out they are thus especially vulnerable to ‘aggressive male resistance’. While I have claimed that life for women in public spaces is fraught with tension, it is also crucial to point out that Indian women have increasing flexibility in the power structures within the bounds of their homes. As families become gradually nuclear and supportive, women have more time to watch television or go to the cinemas. Young men are thus no longer the primary viewers. Since ‘films that appeal to the family audi- ence are thought to have a higher rate of success and greater sustainability’, women South Asian Popular Culture 113 who ‘pull in the family audience’ have become a focus (Srinivas 108). Women often choose what to watch, and their knowledge of the schedules of each family member gives them the power to decide when to watch it. While ‘from the point of view of those in the film business, the most encompassing category has to do with the viewers’ class background’ (Srinivas 103), it is no longer feasible to ignore an important and growing subset of the female audience – the urban, young and career-minded Indian women of the twenty-first century, who are increasingly contributing to the modern Indian economy and have more spending power. As Suzanne L. Shwartz writes in her 2013 article ‘Girl Power Through Purchasing?’:
Currently 85 percent of women who graduate with a bachelor’s degree in India aspire to hold a top job, and 5.5 million educated women enter the Indian workforce each year. Thus, 20 years after India’s economic liberalization, urban, young, educated, working women, who are part of the first generation to never experience the old restrictive economic structure, are entering the workplace, making money, and spending it. This young genera- tion grew up with television images of far-off parts of the world, unparalleled economic growth, more consumer choices and job opportunities than their grandparents could ever have imagined, and a desire to become a part of this new material culture.
Women today look forward to a career after education. Marriage is increasingly not the only option, and as families get smaller a financially contributing spouse is desirable. The possibilities for current generations of educated, especially urban women are end- less, yet they rarely find themselves portrayed in popular soaps and films of the day. As Dheeraj Sinha writes in ‘Seamless Savitris’: ‘Today’s Indian woman…is busy creating her own identity rather than competing against her male counterparts. The woman of today is competing with her femininity rather than against it’ (129). Arguably then, an altering Bollywood audience is instrumental in the post-2010 trend of portraying the female character in a more respectful light. Bollywood actors like Kangana Ranaut, who are part of this young and vibrant group and play the unrealistic onscreen roles of the modern yet objectified women, are often frustrated with the passive, powerless roles they are regularly asked to play. In a televised interview with film critic Anupama Chopra published on 11 October 2013, Ranaut laments that Bollywood offers female actors ‘limited options’ and roles that don’t challenge them to be creative (qtd. from Chopra “In Conversation”). These roles – that sometimes involve female characters to deliver one-liners – make her ‘unhappy within’ and leave her ‘bored to death’. In contrast, her role in Queen has let her ‘tran- scend all her limits as an actor’ and is also her biggest hit (qtd. from Zoom). Rather than making her feel disrespected as a female actor, Queen and Revolver Rani have offered Ranaut the opportunity to work with people who have ‘a lot of regard and respect for women’ (qtd. from Chopra “In Conversation”). Ranaut claims that younger directors like Vikas Bahl also ‘allow’ her to be more creative (qtd. from Chopra “In Conversation”). Actors like Sonakshi Sinha have also voiced their concerns with Bolly- wood and its treatment of female actors. In a 2012 interview with film critic Rajeev Masand, Sinha refused to conform to Bollywood’s expectations with the physical appearances of its female actors. Rather than be ‘unrealistic’, Sinha, who is on the heav- ier side, chooses to portray a healthy body image for young women today (Masand). Like Sinha, actor Vidya Balan has received much flak for being overweight. Deliver- ing mostly hits, both actors have ignored the controversies regarding their weight. Due to the successes they have delivered at the box office, Ranaut, Sinha, and Balan can be 114 S. Gupta called stars; and ‘stars represent the apex of the film industry’s hierarchy and wield tremendous power within filmmaking, specifically in the conceptualization stage’ (Ganti 22). Traditionally, male stars have dominated that stage of filmmaking. Directors like Vikas Bahl, however, are offering the same chance to female stars. Bahl, who specifi- cally wanted Ranaut to play the lead in Queen, permitted her to write some of the dia- logue in the film (Chopra “In Conversation”). Thus the trend of the passive or missing male protagonist and an all-important female protagonist also stems from young direc- tors like Bahl who are willing to experiment and from Bollywood’s female actors to be taken seriously.
Tropes and the delineation of female characters Although, depending on the plot, the six tropes are presented differently in each movie they have similar functions. To avoid repeating what each trope achieves in all three movies, I shall first briefly explain each trope and then the movies in which they occur.
(1) An element of surprise that forces audiences to confront their assumptions about women: when Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen begin the female characters seem passive and helpless, but as the plots unfold their actions reveal their strengths. The element of surprise in the delineation of the female character thus has two effects. It shocks the audience and forces us to face some of our inher- ent assumptions about women, while also allowing us to understand how mis- leading these assumptions can be. This is a recurring trope in each movie. (2) The absence of any connections between women and sensuality: traditionally, item numbers in Bollywood were relegated to vamps. Over the years the gap between vamps and female protagonists has completely disappeared, and the ‘Munnis’ and ‘Sheelas’ have taken over. In these three movies, however, item numbers that display women wearing skimpy clothes and dancing to hooting and whistling men are nonexistent. Kahaani has only one song shown in the film. Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘Jodi Tor Dak Shuney Keu Na Ashey Taley Ekla Cholo Re’ (If no one responds to your call for help, help yourself) is filmed on a contemplative Vidya who fights for justice without an ally. Gulaab Gang and Queen steer away from the traditional ‘item’ song. The songs in these last two movies are about self-discovery and depict fully clothed, carefree women. Although the audience is watching them, within the film itself there are no male audiences shouting obscenities and/or whistling. By not depicting women in pri- marily a sensual light, the movies allow the female characters more depth. (3) Rejection of a direct correlation between the morality/purity of a woman and her fate: the plots in all three movies reject the binary logic that argues that good things happen only to moral and religious women and bad things happen to immoral women. All the female characters in these movies are inherently good, but bad things still happen to them. These movies thus show that the morality and purity of a woman has nothing to do with the safety and happiness she may or may not enjoy within a society. Since women are always taught to check their own behavior, this message frees them from blaming themselves when they are victimized. (4) Lack of male intervention in the action/resolution of the film: the three female characters – Vidya Bagchi, Rajjo and Rani – solve their own problems without any male intervention. While in Kahaani, Bagchi uses the pity that men have South Asian Popular Culture 115
for her; Gulaab Gang depicts female protagonists like Rajjo (who strike fear in men’s hearts by beating them up) and villains like Sumitra (the politician who has her odd ways of putting men in their place). Queen gives no importance to the self-absorbed male character – Rani’s fiancé, Vijay. The plots revolve around the women, and the men are shown to be incidental hiccups in their lives. These movies are about how women achieve their goals and not about how women react to men. (5) Absence/extremely limited portrayal of sexual violence: according to Srividya Ramasubramaniam and Mary Beth Oliver, ‘Indian films tend to present moderate forms of sexual violence to its audience as normal, fun and heroic’ (335). Perpe- trators of sexual violence are marked as villains (although sometimes they have been heroes too), and the male protagonists base their heroism on rescuing the women. Sexual violence is not only difficult to watch, but it also renders the women helpless. While the effects of such violent portrayals on the general audience are debatable, studies indicate that ‘exposure to sexually explicit media (both violent and nonviolent) was associated with increased rape-myth accep- tance and with increased subsequent aggression, especially among angered par- ticipants’ (Ramasubramaniam and Oliver 329). By eliminating sexual violence or violence in general towards women, movies like Queen and Kahaani generate a ‘feel safe/good’ response from its female audiences. Gulaab Gang has one scene where a rape occurs off screen, and that is discussed in a following sec- tion explicitly on the movie. (6) Dis-attachment of the female character from traditional/patriarchal values: in Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen the lead female characters do not become metaphors of the nation and its values. The plots are about the women, their individuality and their daily struggles. Their actions are intended to fulfill their personal goals. This dis-attachment from a larger agenda allows the female characters to explore their trajectories freely.
In the three sections that follow, I analyze Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen separately to show how these tropes combine in each movie – exposing the inherent prejudices of both the male characters within the film and the general audience. My aim is to show how each movie remakes our notions of what a Bollywood heroine can be.
Vidya the villainous protagonist in Kahaani The first trope, an element of surprise, is employed multiple times in this movie. Ka- haani opens with Vidya Bagchi the heavily pregnant wife of missing software engineer, Arnab Bagchi. Director Sujoy Ghosh has audiences pitying the seemingly helpless woman, as one of the investigators informs her ‘no one’s scared of a pregnant woman. Especially one whose husband has run away.’ Although the ever-clueless police insult her several times in the movie, in accordance with the fifth trope there are no scenes of sexual violence in this movie. Highlighting the short-sightedness of the authority figures, and illustrating the third trope, the director makes it clear that her fate has noth- ing to do with her character. The naïve investigators and viewers never suspect that Vidya Bagchi has created the character of Arnab Bagchi in order to avenge her dead husband, Arup Basu, killed in a subway gas attack conducted by the terrorist Milan Damji. But she is not alone in her search for Damji. The investigators are also looking for the government agent turned terrorist. 116 S. Gupta
While women are generally seen as harmless and in need of protection, pregnant women symbolize anything but avenging killers. In the plot, Vidya Bagchi appears to be the quintessential abla naari (helpless woman) and uses the pity of the male charac- ters she encounters. She plots a murder using government and police support and is never suspected. In the last scene, when she comes face to face with Damji, her identity is revealed to the investigators and viewers. In place of a baby, Bagchi pulls out her prosthetic belly and lashes out at her husband’s killer with it. She then stabs him several times, ultimately fatally shooting him with his own gun. Ghosh banks the success of the shocking last scene and of the film on the audiences’ assumptions of women as inher- ently weak. Although when Bagchi shoots her husband’s killer she is guilty by law and therefore technically a villain, the film offers a more nuanced understanding. Of course we end up pitying the protagonist/villain who lost her husband, but the last scene also invites the audience to see Bagchi in an almost divine light. The scene takes place during Durga puja – a time that Hindus celebrate the killing of the evil demon Mahishashur by the powerful goddess Durga. Exemplifying the second trope where the female charac- ter’s sensuality is not a focus, Bagchi is dressed in a traditional Bengali white sari with red borders that Bengali women wear on auspicious occasions. She stands facing her husband’s killer, while in the background we can hear the familiar sounds of Durga Puja – the ‘dhak’ (drums), ‘shak’ (conch) and the ‘ulu’ (a distinct sound women make using their tongues). She shoots the killer in a well-lit alley, and as per the fourth trope, avenges herself without any male intervention. The traditional Bengali white sari with red borders that Bagchi wears can be read as a symbol that gestures toward her inherent strength and to a mythic universality of the god- dess figure. However, the director is quick to correct any assumptions the audience may have about Bagchi as the goddess Durga when he shows why she chose to wear a sari. The police lose her as Bagchi disappears in a sea of women in white saris with red borders. As we applaud an intelligent woman who can stand up for herself, the sari becomes less a symbol of tradition/divinity and more a marker of practicality – thus illustrating the sixth trope, where Bagchi/Balan is freed from any associations with stifling traditions. Vidya Balan, the actor who plays Vidya Bagchi, is unconventional. Although she has been critically acclaimed many times for the roles she has played in several movies, she is unlike the reigning divas of Bollywood. Close to her forties, Balan has been criti- cized for being overweight and for having a more traditional face and appearance.3 Her importance in the movie, however, revolves around her worth as an actor. In an inter- view with Indu Mirani on The Boss Dialogues, director Sujoy Ghosh reveals how Balan influenced the making of the film , explaining that
Vidya and I … have been … trying to hit on something which would excite both of us … initially the plan was to make Kahaani a hero and a heroine film … then we told Vidya you are the hero, and you carry the film on your shoulders. (qtd. from Mirani)
This relatively new trend of confidence in a female actor to successfully carry an entire film on her ‘shoulders’ and a concern for what would ‘excite’ her is similar to Bahl’s treatment of Ranaut discussed earlier.
Older Bollywood queens in their new avatars in Gulaab Gang4 Real-life vigilante hero, Sampat Pal Devi, and her group of pink-sari-clad, ever-growing female supporters inspired Gulaab Gang, although producer Anubhav Sinha denies that South Asian Popular Culture 117
(see Saxena). The producers considered the film a flop; however, it is commendable that Bollywood chose to tell the true story of a rural woman, Sampat Pal Devi, who does not hesitate to use physical force to fight for the rights of women and often has to go against established patriarchal norms and their protectors. Her story now inspires thou- sands around the world arguably because of the attention it received in popular culture.5 Even though there are some issues with the film,6 there are many ways in which Gu- laab Gang is groundbreaking. The movie focuses on one woman’s struggle to empower rural women, who are considered to be the most oppressed of Indian society. While the absence of lead male protagonists, as per Bollywood’s new trend, continues to be refreshing, there is also the new phenomenon of older female actors starring as leads. Madhuri Dixit (who plays Rajjo, the leader of the Gulaab gang) and Juhi Chawla (who plays Sumitra, the evil politician in Rajjo’s way) are both actors past what is considered their acting prime. While male actors stay on forever, even after their skin has sagged and their hair turned grey, female actors don’t enjoy that privilege. If older female actors are offered roles in Bollywood movies, they are mostly seen as unimportant periphery characters. Never the lead, these female actors play mothers, aunts and even grand- mothers. In this movie, however, Dixit and Chawla are formidable characters. The film opens with graceful and elegant Rajjo teaching young girls in her make- shift school. The element of surprise, or the first trope, is illustrated when scenes depict- ing her physical prowess soon follow. Rajjo, the soft-spoken teacher, and her gang of women know how to wield sticks, sickles and hammers. Their strength, however, does not merely come from weapons. These women are physically strong and are shown breaking the hands of male perpetrators. Action in Bollywood movies is almost always the prerogative of men, but Gulaab Gang presents women in action. As film critic Taran Adarsh writes:
It’s a pleasure to watch Madhuri essay the role of Rajjo with flourish. In her three-decade- long career, the actress has worked in practically all genres of cinema, but GULAAB GANG [sic.] gives her the platform to explore not just the dramatics, but action too. She enacts the part of a righteous woman with supreme understanding and deserves brownie points for a terrific portrayal.
True to the movie’s spirit, the lead villain in the movie is not a man. Juhi Chawla, as Sumitra the conniving politician, is a dangerous woman who stops at nothing to get what she wants. To quote Adarsh again:
Matching Madhuri with a pitch-perfect portrayal is Juhi, who defiantly ventures into an alley she has never sauntered into in her career earlier. The actress displays the evil side without resorting to loud theatrics or attempting to overpower her co-star.
At the very least then, Gulaab Gang has expanded cinematic roles for women by enlightening the audiences about women’s lives. As per the second trope, the movie does not explore women in a sensual light. The emphasis is not on how women can become sexually appealing but on how they can increase their confidence and worth. The female characters are mostly depicted in baggy clothing or sarees and ghagras. Although in traditional clothing, Rajjo does not ask her young and old recruits to be helpless/silent sufferers. Instead she urges them to see beyond the conventional roles played by women. The sixth trope, or the dis-attachment of female characters from traditional/patriarchal values, is made clear through Rajjo’s goals for her students and her gang. While she focuses on educating young girls and 118 S. Gupta sending them to school, Rajjo urges a different kind of education for her older recruits. As she tells a new gang member, ‘Tera Sai tujhme hain, tu jag seke tow jag’ (your god is within you, try and awaken to that) – a notion that challenges the patriarchal message that asks women to be pativrata (husband worshipper). For all the violence enacted in the movie, Rajjo exhorts women to see the strength they have within themselves. Reduced to using sticks and sickles to punish offending men, Rajjo knows that the only way out for women like her is through education. The film, however, makes it abun- dantly clear just how inaccessible such basic rights can be for girls in rural areas. In their struggle for equality and in line with the fourth trope (lack of male interven- tion), no one helps Rajjo and her gang. They defy corrupt politicians, negative attitudes that villagers themselves have about women, and even the police. At the heart of the film is the lack of faith women have in figures of authority – the government and the police. In a nation where instead of condemning acts of sexual violence leaders like Tapas Pal (‘two-term MP and award winning Bengali actor’), as recently as 2014, are instructing male followers to rape women of the opposition party, such a lack of faith is hardly surprising (“India Outrage”). Although the movie does not condemn violence, it certainly shows that to beat the odds women sometimes must employ unconventional means. In accordance with the fifth trope, Gulaab Gang has extremely limited portrayal of sexual violence. The film, however, steers clear of exploring the usual – the negative repercussions the rape has on the female victim’s mind and body. The victim is a teen- age girl who, as with all rape cases, does not provoke the rapist. Considering that women who are raped are often blamed for instigating the sexual violence in some way, it is important that the director highlights the unwarranted nature of rape – thus illustrat- ing the third trope (lack of direct correlation between a woman’s morality and her fate). Rather than helplessly approaching the authorities with no result and/or asking the rapist to marry the victim, this gang of women focuses on avenging the rape and chooses to cut off the ears of the rapist. Far from presenting sexual violence as heroic or women as passive victims, by visibly marking the rapist this film warns perpetrators of the repercussions their actions may have.
No kings need apply for this Queen Queen starts with the dissolution of an impending marriage. This is brave, considering that Bollywood blockbusters like Hum Aapke Hain Kaun (‘Who am I to you?’) and Dil- wale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (‘The brave hearted will take the bride away’) have repeat- edly proved that movies revolving around successful weddings tend to do well.7 Yet Queen has struck a chord with millions of people across India and collected close to $10 million dollars domestically alone proving that there is a market for movies where women chart their own trajectories. Rejected by her NRI fiancé, Vijay, for not being modern, Rani from small town Rajauri is dumped just two days before her wedding. Through a flashback scene, where Vijay aggressively courts Rani, the director makes it clear that this rejection is based on the whims of a shallow man. Instead of sinking into a movie about depression or pre- dictably rambling into one about love re-found in an expected place, the plot ejects the lead female character from her comfort zone. The daughter of a sweet seller, Rani chooses to go alone on the already-paid-for honeymoon trip where life brings her to an understanding of herself. This choice, in keeping with the first trope (element of sur- prise), shocks the audience for several reasons. The director does not portray the usual South Asian Popular Culture 119 scenes of public shaming of the jilted bride, and Rani’s parents support their daughter’s decision to travel. Illustrating the sixth trope, they let her go to Paris and Amsterdam, even though the trip has no particular purpose, and are not worried that she will shame the family honor in some way.8 Thus showing that often-discouraged spontaneous behavior should be an option for women. Although sometimes the only criticism leveled against Queen has to do with its sup- posed ‘aimlessness’ (Chute), I argue that the very purposelessness makes the movie authentic. All over the world a woman’s life can be quite scripted. From the moment she is born there are certain expectations attached. That she is to be a wife and a mother – whether or not she establishes a life and a career for herself – is never questioned. By introducing trouble into hitherto happy Rani’s life only through her impending marriage, Queen asks the average woman to move away from such routine that does not allow introspection. Rani’s focus is not on punishing Vijay but on refashioning herself. Absent in the rest of the movie, Vijay surfaces towards the end only to be rejected by Rani. Thus we don’t look at Rani through her interactions with Vijay. Rather the movie rejects what Laura Mulvey coined the ‘male gaze’ by omitting Vijay’s perspective and pres- ence, and thus allows the audience to concentrate more on the conflict in the female character’s life. Rani does not function as an erotic object for the male character or the male audi- ence. Even as Bollywood movies tend to emphasize a female character’s ‘modern’ out- look by the western clothing she wears, there is an implicit assumption both in Hindi films and in Indian society that women in skirts, shorts or dresses are usually immoral.9 The ‘see-through sari blowing in the wind or wet from the rain’ generally escapes this stigma. Director Bahl, however, moves away from this dichotomy. Although she is mostly in western clothing (and not sarees and ghagras like the female characters in Kahaani and Gulaab Gang), Rani never shows much skin. The second trope, in which women are not solely depicted in a sensual light, and the third trope, the lack of a logi- cal connection between women’s morality and their appearances, are thus highlighted concurrently here. The third trope is explored further through two provocative scenes in the movie revolving around the woman’s body.10 One involves a close shot of Rani’s Parisian friend Vijaylakshmi’s cleavage (Rani’s father and brother stare at her); the other depicts Roxette, a Muslim prostitute in Amsterdam, scantily clad and displayed in a window (Rani’s male roommates gawk at her). Both scenes present women as objects of desire but do not necessarily objectify women. Vijaylakshmi and Roxette are sexually active and epitomize all the ‘evils’ that Indian women are taught to shy away from – primarily, premarital sex, sex with random men and single motherhood. Yet their choices do not say anything negative or reductive about their personalities. Both women are fundamen- tally good human beings, and Rani is not set up as a foil to them. Bahl’s stance on a regressive understanding of womanhood is shown through the positive effects that Vijaylakshmi (who works as a hotel maid and provides for her son) and Roxette (who prostitutes herself to help her family survive) have on Rani and by showing that the central conflict in the movie is not about maintaining or preserving a woman’s purity but about understanding a woman’s place in today’s world. Bahl pushes for an acceptance of all the different kinds of women who make up a nation – the Ranis, the Vijaylaksmis and even the Roxettes. One of the popular objections for women travelling abroad alone is that they cannot protect themselves physically. Illustrating the fourth trope (lack of male intervention) in a hilarious yet nail-biting scene with Rani and a Parisian mugger, director Bahl shows 120 S. Gupta that a woman can protect herself – a message quite different from the one that Bollywood has been putting forth for so long. Rani is seen bawling but fighting the mugger in great desperation. Down on her hands and knees, she holds on to her purse for dear life. Bahl is concerned with making her more realistic instead of visually appealing. Not necessarily portrayed as any other male character may have been in a similar situation (there is nothing that a Bollywood film hero cannot do), she is never- theless believable – when attacked she fights instead of only shrieking miserably. In line with the fifth trope, the mugger only tries to rob her and not sexually violate her. The omission of the rape motif allows us to see that there are challenges that can affect male and female tourists similarly. The audience thus leaves with more of a notion of equality between the two sexes – yet another message often ignored by popular Bollywood movies. Queen refuses to package and market the Indian woman only as a daughter, wife or mother and reveals that to be completely free the Ranis of India have to challenge not only men’s flawed perception of women but also some of the assumptions that they as women have about themselves.11 As John Berger writes in Ways of Seeing, ‘The sur- veyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female’ (38). The plot of the movie demands that the female character learns to respect and recognize her strengths. When the movie starts, her fiancé calls her ‘my queen’, but by the end of the film, Rani has become her own ‘queen’.
Conclusion The social roles that both urban and rural women are playing in India are constantly evolving; however, cultural attitudes to women remain somewhat stagnant. Powerful popular culture mediums, such as Bollywood, can affect social change. The volume of movies focusing on the female protagonist may be low, but the rising post-2010 trend of the passive or missing male protagonist and an all-important female protagonist is praiseworthy. Movies such as Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen in particular illustrate the ways in which Bollywood is remaking its queens. Not concerned with the preserva- tion and/or protection of women – depicted in the theme of popular Bollywood films that ‘conflates the preservation of nationness with the protection of women’ (Fernandes 157 ) – Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen remap the Indian woman and place her beyond the boundaries of tradition. ‘Historically the moral universe of commercial Indian cinema is a world in which social duties, love of nation, kinship bonds outweigh individualism and personal desires’ (Sharpe 64), yet in these movies the individual mat- ters more. The otherwise disparate female actors in Kahaani, Gulaab Gang and Queen are no longer helpless. They make choices, remove all obstacles and do not retreat into the confines of home and patriarchy. More importantly, they are not portrayed in a negative light for who they are.
Notes 1. Indian cinema dates back to 1913, when Dadasaheb Phalke’s silent film Raja Harishchandra made its foray. 2. See “Rapes In India Rise By 873% From 1953”: all data in the article is from statistics com- piled by the National Crime Records Bureau. 3. An anonymous author in The Times of India writes: ‘Vidya Balan has a face that can launch a number of brands. We already know her as the powerhouse performer, but weight issues have never completely left Vidya alone in her career so far. While she may have made even South Asian Popular Culture 121
fat look hot in her film The Dirty Picture, the actress’s waistline is not our concern here. Vidya Balan’s problem area actually lies in her meaty legs. Vidya Balan is one of those few Bollywood actresses who looks good in a saree but not in a cocktail dress and we blame her slightly over-weight legs for that … Vidya’s legs are left bare in knee-length dresses making her look frumpy instead. In a recent interview to Mumbai Mirror, Mohit Suri who has taken Balan in his upcoming film “Hamari Adhuri Kahani” says she has to lose weight for the film and get into shape’ (“Actresses and their Problem Areas”). Instead of this extremely personal attack, the writer should have alluded to Balan’s capabilities as an actor. 4. Before director Soumik Sen released this movie there were two documentaries based on Sampat Pal Devi’s gang However, while British documentary filmmaker, Kim Longinotto’s Pink Saris (2010) is not very well known, the 2012 documentary Gulaabi Gang of Norwe- gian-Indian-Danish co-production (written and directed by Nishtha Jain) received much criti- cal acclaim The popularity of both Pink Saris and Gulaabi Gang with the masses, however, is debatable For my purposes in this paper, I am only concerned with mainstream commer- cial Bollywood cinema 5. There is even a Facebook page dedicated to Sampat Pal and her mission. 6. As film critic Anupama Chopra notes: ‘Sen [the director] is unable to embed the actresses into his fictionalised [sic.] version in a coherent way. The result is an ineffectual and messy ode to women empowerment in which women, with nicely styled hair and handloom saris, maim, kill, fight elections and in between find the time to sing and dance’ (Chopra “Gulaab Gang is Messy"). 7. This film also moves away from the nod in Indian cinema to urban and overseas markets. Rani is from a small town, doesn’t speak English properly, and her Indian family friends who live abroad are shown to be cheap and small-minded. 8. Simran, the lead female character, in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge had a very hard time convincing her father to let her go for a month to Europe. The female protagonist in Queen has thus come a long way. 9. The portrayal of Anglo Indian women in older Bollywood movies, for example, completely
relies on this notion. 10. This is a crucial idea since women who are raped, for example, are often seen as provoca- teurs. 11. Although to some extent Bahl also rescues the negative image of men – as helpless victims of feminine charm and therefore reduced to rape – by making Rani room with three boys in Amsterdam.
Notes on contributor Sukanya Gupta is an Assistant Professor at University of Southern Indiana. Her research and teaching interests include Post-colonial Literature and Theory and World Literature. She has pub- lished articles on Literacy Issues in Colonial India, a Postcolonial reading of William Shake- speare’s The Tempest and Cyril Dabydeen’s The Wizard Swami.
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Filmography Aitraaz. Dir. Abbas-Mustan. Mukta Arts, 2004. Film. Bobby Jasoos. Dir. Samar Shaikh. Born Free Entertainment, 2014. Film. Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. Dir. Aditya Chopra. Yash Raj Films, 1995. Film. Dirty Picture. Dir. Milan Luthria. Balaji Motion Pictures, 2011. Film. Gulaab Gang. Dir. Vikas Bahl. Alumbra Entertainment, 2014. Film. Hum Aapke Hain Kaun. Dir. Sooraj R. Barjatya. Rajshri Productions, 1994. Film. Insaaf ka Tarazu. Dir. B. R. Chopra. B. R. Films, 1980. Film. Jism. Dir. Amit Saxena. Fish Eye Network, 2002. Film. Kahaani. Dir. Sujoy Ghosh. Boundscript Motion Pictures, 2014. Film. Kalyug Aur Ramayana. Dir. Babubhai Mistry. Shashi Goswami, 1987. Film. Khalnayak. Dir. Subhash Ghai. Mukta Arts, 1993. Film. Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi. Ekta & Shobha Kapoor. Star Plus, India. 2000. Television. Lajja. Dir. Rajkumar Santoshi. Santoshi Productions, 2001. Film. Maha Sati Savitri. Dir. Chandrakant. Basant Pictures, 1973. Film. Mardaani. Dir. Pradeep Sarkar. Yash Raj Films, 2014. Film. Mary Kom. Dir. Omung Kumar. Bhansali Productions, 2014. Film. Murder. Dir. Anurag Basu. Vishesh Films, 2004. Film. Pardes. Dir. Subhash Ghai. Mukta Arts, 1997. Film. Pratighaat. Dir. N. Chandra. Usha Kiron Movies, 1987. Film. Queen. Dir. Vikas Bahl. Viacom 18 Motion Pictures & Phantom Films, 2014. Film. Raadha Aur Seeta. Dir. Vijay Kapoor. Rajshri Productions, 1979. Film. Raja Harishchandra. Dir. Dadasaheb Phale. Phalke Films, 1913. Film. Rajjo. Dir. Vishwas Patil. Four Pillars Entertainment, 2013. Film. Rampur ki Sita. Dir. Karnan. D.H.S. Combines, 1988. Film. Revolver Rani. Dir. Sai Kabir. Wave Cinemas, 2014. Film. Salaam Namaste. Dir. Siddharth Anand. Yash Raj Films, 2006. Film. Sati Savitri. Dir. Shantilal Soni. B. R. Productions, 1964. Film.
Satyawan Savitri. Dir. Dadasaheb Phale. Phalke Films, 1948. Film. Seeta Aur Geeta. Dir. Ramesh Sippy. Sippy Films, 1972. Film. Sitapur ki Geeta. Dir. Shibu Mitra. Kapur Films International, 1987. Film.