Chapter Three Mehta‟S Fire and Pullappally‟S Sancharram

Chapter Three

Mehta‟s Fire and Pullappally‟s Sancharram

This chapter offers a semiotic analysis of Mehta‟s Fire and Ligy Pullappally‟s Sancharram. Both films deal with female same sex love. As mentioned earlier, this criterion is used to club these films, in this chapter for the structural convenience. No exclusive comparative analysis is aimed at in this chapter.

Fire

3.1. Introduction

Fire was the first transnational film commercially released at movie theaters in various cities across India. The film was always described through the euphemisms „bold‟, „sumptuous‟, „unconventional‟ and not „lesbian‟ or „homosexual‟. However, most of the criticism that followed its release in India mainly poured out of the undesirability of and the protest against sexual intimacy between two „Indian‟ „Hindu‟ „middle-class‟ „married‟ „women‟ „in kinship‟ that too, by a „Westernised‟ Non Residential Indian film maker, „who lacks an understanding of family life and emotional bonds in India‟ (Kishwar, 1998:03, Ghosh 2008). Sujata Moorti mentions that „it is the specificity of Mehta‟s Western locus of enunciation that has evoked the ire of the religious right. Rather than presenting nostalgia for home, Mehta raises issues that criticize tradition‟ (2000 n.p.). The act of physical intimacy is not perceived merely as a contact of two female bodies. The bodies become territorialized with inscription of nationality, in being Indian (defined by borders) of religion, in being Hindu, probably upper caste and of kinship, in being sisters-in-law. Hence, the act of physical intimacy does not remain just a contact between two female bodies. Many critics describe Fire as the story of “the two unhappy housewives compelled [Researcher‟s emphasis] to seek emotional and sexual satisfaction from each other because their husbands provide none.” (Kishwar, 1998: 3) The film was a political statement of a feminist film maker against an oppressive patriarchal culture. The „sexual‟ choice then becomes merely a token or a medium for the

film to make that statement. Before attempting a semiotic analysis abrief look at the story is required.

3.1.1. Story in a Nutshell

Fire is a story of two women‟s journey of exploration of the desire. Radha (Shabana Azmi13) is a middle aged dutiful „unproductive‟ housewife in the middle class Hindu family of Kapurs in a suburb of contemporary New Delhi, the capital of India. Radha‟s marital life exists within three confined spaces of the house; living room, bedroom and kitchen; nursing the paralyzed mother-in-law, Biji, serving as a catalyst in bed to her moksha seeking husband, Ashok (Kulbhushan Kharbanda), in his exercise to control his carnal desire (whenever the urge surfaces) and contributing to the family business by working at the take-out food kitchen. Sita (Nandita Das), on the other hand, is a „modern‟ bouncy, lively new bride with a disinterested husband, Jatin (Javed Jaffrey) who has a girlfriend. As a consequence of Radha‟s inability to bear a child due to „no eggs in her ovaries‟, Ashok turns to practising celibacy under the guidance of Swamiji, a Hindu spiritual guru, hoping to attain Moksha. It has been for thirteen years that Radha and Ashok have had no physical relation. Jatin, on the other hand, is preoccupied with his Chinese girlfriend, Julie, who refuses to get married to him.

Another male presence in the family is Mundu (Ranjit Chawdhry), a live-in servant. Mundu secretly fancies Radha. He is party to Jatin‟s secret renting out of pornographic videos to his male customers. In his spare time and in the absence of the rest of the family members, under the pretext of showing videos of the „Ramayana‟ to Biji, Mundu watches porn and masturbates despite the disapproving moans of mute Biji.

Sita has her first and unpleasant sexual encounter with Jatin, who ruthlessly performs sex as a ritual, necessary to have a child in the family. Further, Radha discovers that Jatin has

13Shabana Azmi, ‘arguably India’s most versatile and talented actress, also social activist and member of Rajya Sabha (India’s Upper House of the Parliament) from 1997 to 2003 was approached for the role of Sita, as Mehta was convinced that only she could do justice to the character. Azmi initially refused to play the role due to her concerns about her political career. However, her husband Javed Akhtar persuaded her to take up the project.

a girlfriend whom he continues seeing. Sita starts spending much of her time in the company of Radha. They grow aware of their loveless lives and are drawn closer with compassion. On one such occasion when Radha is consoling Sita an unintended brush of lips ignites a fire of passion between the two. Initially confused and nervous, Radha starts experiencing the power of newly felt desire. Sita‟s continuous transgressions and initiatives make her look „modern‟ in the eyes of other members in the family.

The incident sets Radha and Sita on a journey of exploration of their desires. They look happy. Their acts of affection are seen as a family bond. However, Mundu discovers the secret love between the two women. He informs Ashok only after he is threatened by the possibility of Radha, his love interest, being snatched away from him by Sita. Ashok throws him out of the house instead. Ashok, in a shock after seeing Sita and Radha making love in his bedroom, makes a weak attempt to sexually take charge of Radha and fails. In the meanwhile, Sita and Radha decide to leave the house and meet at Nizamuddin Dargah that night. In an argument with Ashok, Radha‟s Sari catches fire but Ashok instead picks up Biji and leaves the room. With bruises and clothes half burnt Radha manages to survive the fire and arrives as the Durgah. Uniting the lovers thus, the story ends.

3.1.3. Analysis

Two Scenes, Two Protagonists and One Quest

The first two scenes establish expectations in a significant way and set the tone by placing Radha and Sita at the centre of the narrative. The two scenes are disparate both in a temporal and spatial sense; however the non diegetic sound of the opening background score, establishes continuance.

Figure 13 Young Radha with her family. FR.

The film narrative opens with a story-within-story style deploying focalization. The establishing shot takes the viewers through the mustard fields where a family (parents and young Radha) has come for picnic (figure 13) and the mother is seen telling her young daughter a story of a people who are sad as they can never see the ocean. The mother tells that an old woman in the village comforts the people by saying, “What you can‘t see, you can see. You just have to see without looking.” (FR) The mother asks Radha if she understands what that means, to which Radha nods and the screen fades. We come to know later as the narrative develops that this is the frequently remembered episode in grown up Radha‟s life. Her quest to understand the meaning of “seeing without looking” has not ended yet. The scene serves as a mystery that Radha is able to unravel only after being „tested‟ by the „fire‟ at dramatic turn of events.

The second scene opens with a frame within frame shot revealing a young couple in silhouette leaning against the wall to face each other giving apparently an archetypal image of a romantic heterosexual couple formation (figure 14). However, the very next frame preempts this possibility as the woman is seen moved away while the position of the man with a protruding knee has not changed. And as the camera moves to hold the woman, a wide frame Sita standing before the classic monument Taj Mahal is seen (figure 15).

Figure.14. Sita and Jatin in an archetypal pose FR. Figure.15. Sita facing the Taj and open sky. FR.

This shift from a narrow and crammed frame to a broad frame in a way underlines the possible journey awaiting Sita.

Bedroom as Site of Contestation

Within the diegetic spaces of the narrative „bedroom‟ is established as a very vibrant spatial signifier. It is marked by a frequently shifting signification. Usually seen as a site of heterosexual union and implied proliferation, „bedroom‟ in the film, becomes a contested space. Sita‟s bedroom is anything than what it implies. Neither recreational nor procreative, it becomes a site of experiments for Ashok to practice control over his desire for Sita. The first glimpse of Jatin‟s bedroom shows posters of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan and juxtaposed is a bed with rose petals spread on it, suggestive of the suhag raat, the first night when the marriage is supposed to be consummated. Instead, the bedroom is transformed into a trangressive closet for a budding love between Radha and Sita.

Figure 16.Radha in one of her transgressive moods. FR.

After being ushered into the room, the newlywed Sita pulls off her sari and puts on the oversize male trousers out of fancy. Then lighting up a mock cigarette she turns on an Indi pop number “Mein hoon dilnashi…” and starts performing what Ghosh calls “a vampish dance” (2010:64) before the mirror. Though momentarily mortified by Biji‟s objection, Sita again on an impulse stands before the mirror pulls down her blouse and strikes a seductive pose (figure 16). This out of impulse act by Sita allows the viewers an entry into her transgressive side. However, the „sartorial‟ transgression does not go so far as to give Sita „man‟ like traits usually seen in the Western patterns of a typical „lesbian‟. Gayatri Gopinath and Jinga Desai, for example, have framed Fire in the context of queer rather than lesbian desire (Gopinath 2005; Desai 2002). The use of „queer‟ deployed to refer to a range of dissident and non-heteronormative practices suits this transgression more than the Western popular version of it.

Queering Domestic Spaces

Figure 17-18-19. Radha reveals that she likes „plain boiled rice‟ which baffles Sita. FR.

As the narrative progresses, the two women are drawn closer by their domestic duties. The market scene is one such moment together when Radha has Sita baffled with her remarks. The two are talking about food, women and man‟s appetite.

Sita: My mother says a woman without a husband is like boiled rice... bland, unappetizing and useless. This must be an Indian saying. Radha: (with an implied imperative tone) I like plain boiled rice. (FR)

Radha leaves the frame and the camera captures Sita‟s baffled expressions with selective focus. The remarks have the spectators baffled too. The expression is reminiscent of the Hollywood film Spartacus 1960 where Crassus tells Antoninus that his tastes include both “oysters and snails”, implying his sexual preferences. This particular scene has queer implications as the documentary film The Celluloid Closet reveals (1995). Does Radha say this only to sympathize with a husbandless woman or does she express her preference to be one? There is enough room to contemplate that the narrative creates space for the queer desires to be articulated without framing it in any familiar trope.

It is through the domestic spaces that Radha and Sita are drawn closer. They become aware of each other‟s loveless lives and suppressed aspirations. The open space of the terrace, usually associated with domestic chores like drying cloths, becomes a site of sharing their pains, dreams and later, desire. In the game of seeing and looking, everybody looks at the growing companionship between Radha and Sita, but no one sees their ignited desires. Does the film question the Western rhetoric of marked visibility as the only valid site? Moreover, instead of establishing a heterosexual/ homosexual binary, the narrative positions the queer desire, right in the mid of supposed heterosexual space. In Mahn and Watt‟s observation, the term “lesbian” carries with it a weight of colonial history. “The film successfully sidesteps this issue with its absence of reference point to female same-sex desire in Western culture” (2014:224), and offers an alternative language of queer desire. Moreover, Gopinath (2005) makes a strong case for the closet as a site of exploration rather than oppression, thus subverting the power of heterosexual spaces as well as the rhetoric of visibility as the only valid site.

Desire Ignited

The moment that ignites the desire in Radha and Sita for each other needs a mention. As Radha enters Sita‟s room on hearing her crying, she tries to console her.

Sita: (hugging Radha) I want to go home. Radha: (Consoling) don‟t worry. Things will work out with Jatin. Sita: It‟s not that… (FR)

Figure 20. Sita kisses Radha for the first time. FR. Figure 21. Radha experiences new awakening of desire. FR.

Radha draws back as they continue to look at each other and Sita‟s lips brush Radha‟s. Sita draws Radha closer and kisses her on her lips (figure 20). Radha does not resist but slowly pulls herself away and leaves the room while Sita looks on, with an expression of happiness. The next thing captured with the mid shot, is Radha at the wash basin. The camera zooms in and gives close up of Radha‟s face when she touches her lips with finger (figure 10). The camera frame freezes for a moment, signifying passage of time. The deployment of the diegetic sound of tap water only makes the experience look real. This is followed by the recurring image of young Radha with her parents, Radha still unable to see what makes her mother happy. This trajectory of events compels the viewers to go back to, why Sita was crying. Sita rejects her relation with Jatin to be the cause for her crying. Ghosh (2010) poses a rhetoric question if Sita is crying out of happiness; whether she has started seeing without looking.

Touches and Glances

Radha is quite unsettled by the kiss. With the awakening of desire, Radha reaches out to Ashok who, in response turns away. This is the fourth time that the film uses non-diegetic sound, the instrumental piece “Desire Night‖ by giving a heightened effect of the thematic concern of the narrative, desire. There is a conscious choice behind the deployment of non diegetic sound. It is mainly when the characters are confronted with desire or the quest for it, the charismatic instrumental music is deployed. Deployment of

songs happens within the diegetic spaces of the narrative. It either marks time image in which the film consciously introduces songs from the films released in 1995 like the Blockbuster Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (July 1995) and Rangeela (September 1995).

(Figure 22-23-24) While oiling Sita‟s hair Radha steals a glance or two. Mundu gazes at them. FR.

While Radha is still looking for solace in Ashok or appears uncertain, Sita seems to have realized, her new feelings for Radha and quite unperturbed approaches Radha with an air of conviction. In one of the sequences Sita enters Radha‟s bedroom and requests her to oil her hair. Ghosh (2010) terms this sequence as one of the most lyrical sequences in the films. Radha stands over Sita gently massaging the oil to her hair. The sequence is framed and shot through a full length dressing-table mirror. Radha steals a glance to gauge expressions on Sita‟s face (figure 22). Seeing Sita contented, Radha too smiles (figure 23). Radha is shy but not afraid of returning Sita‟s gaze. Second important development in this sequence is Mundu‟s sudden entry into the room. It is through Mundu‟s gaze (figure 24) that the audience is able to realize, that Mundu sees the „hanky panky‟ as he calls it, going on between Radha and Sita. After Mundu‟s gaze the shot cuts into the next frame wherein, Julie is dressing Jatin‟s hair. Through the juxtaposition the narrative seems to raise the question in what way is the erotica between the heterosexual couple and a homosexual coupleis different. Thus, the narrative challenges the „natural‟ claims of hetero-erotica. Gopinath (2002) remarks that Fire has given a new angle to look at the simple acts like oiling hair from a homoerotic perspective. She revisits films such as Mandi (1983) and Utsav (1984) and explores queer possibilities.

The second time when Radha gives her desire a voice is during Karwa Chauth fast. While narrating the legend behind Karwa Chauth, which gets transformed into kitschy

visual narrative by Mundu‟s colourful imagination of himself as king and Radha as his queen, Sita asks Radha her opinion, why the queen does not leave the king. Gazing back Radha replies, “I don‟t know… She did not have many CHOICES.” Fully aware of her actions, Radha stresses the word „choices‟ and looks at Sita.

Figure. 25-26. The camera captures Radha gazing at Sita, with whom she is falling in love. FR.

Thus the act establishes an association between Sita and choices, suggesting that Radha has a choice and that is Sita. Expressing her dislike for meaningless traditions like keeping fast to show the loyalty to their husbands, Sita declares, “I am sure we can find choices”. Sita and Radha thus offer a critique of the notion of “compulsory heterosexuality”, theorized by Adrienne Rich (1980) who questions if compulsory heterosexuality has ever been examined as an institution. (634) Rich remarks:

If women are the earliest sources of emotional caring and physical nurture for both female and male children, it would seem logical … to pose the following questions: whether the search for love and tenderness in both sexes does not originally lead toward women; why in fact women would ever redirect that search; why species-survival, the means of impregnation, and emotional/erotic relationships should ever have become so rigidly identified with each other; and why such violent strictures should be found necessary to enforce women's total emotional, erotic loyalty and subservience to men (637).

The film has Radha‟s soul constantly visiting the idyllic episode where her mother gives her advice of „seeing without looking‟. Radha‟s attachment, loyalty to her husband Ashok remains only out of the compulsion as duty of wife. She finds Sita‟s company

emotionally and erotically much more fulfilling than that of Ashok. Like Sita says “Someone has to just press my button – this button marked tradition – and I start acting like a monkey”, women are so acclimatized that they do not question what is expected of them.

Revolt, Resignification and Ultimate Culmination

The narrative dramatically reaches the culmination point when in the evening of Karwa Chauth; the women break their fast in absence of their men. The narrative not only shows Radha and Sita‟s revolt against „meaningless‟ traditions but it subverts and resignifies it, as Radha assumes the place of lover and makes Sita drink water to break her fast. Sita, again on impulse but in a light mood makes a statement, “I think Ashok bhaiyya should keep this fast for Swamiji”. Feeling awkward for the remarks Sita withdraws. Does Sita hint at Ashok‟s devotion to Swamiji as a growing homoromatic bond under the pretext of spirituality? Ashok‟s loyalties towards Swamiji are known to the family. He provides him with money, serves him and spends most of his time in his Ashram. There are deliberate fissures and gaps in the spiritual narrative of Ashok‟s quest for salvation.

Secondly, the film also in a way mocks the way Karwa Chauth trope is exploited in Bollywood films. The immediate reference is the most glamorously carved Karwa Chauth scene between Simran (Kajol) and Raj (Shahrukh Khan) in Karan Johar‟s 1995 blockbuster Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge.

(Figure27-28-29) Sita runs a finger over her lips. Enters Radha‟s room and makes love. Biji suspiciously looks at Sita (off screen) leaving Radha‟s room. FR.

What follows is the first explicit love making scene between the two women in the history of Indian film. Overcome by her desire for Radha, Sita is unable to sleep that

night. She slowly runs her finger over her lips. Sita enters Radha‟s room and without hesitation touches and kisses Radha. Radha initially makes a weak appeal but then overcome by the desire, gives in. First with a mid shot and then mid-long shot tracking out the camera gives the viewers an access to the physical intimacy between Radha and Sita. A.R.Rahman‟s “Desire Night‖ instrumental continues in the extra diegetic spaces connecting it to previous two sequences and thus giving the subjectivity of understanding desire by different characters. After love making Radha wears a salwar that is lying on the floor. Many commentators found it crude. However, Ghosh (2010) finds it apt because “by making the sexuality explicit, Mehta extricates the relationship from ambiguous gestures of female homosocial intimacy” (83). Further in the scene Sita asks Radha, “did we do anything wrong?” “No”, is Radha‟s immediate reply. This ability of Radha to separate the act from any sense of „shame‟ or „crime‟ or „sin‟ is a very important moment in the history of Indian narrative of same sex love. The narrative thus presents Radha and Sita with sexual agency. The agency is not limited to the act but also deciding its moral value. Further in the scene, Sita emerges from inside Radha‟ room buttoning her blouse. Biji, who is awake now, looks at her (figure.29), thus becoming the second person suspicious of the relation between Radha and Sita.

Transformed by Desire

There is a saying in Sanskrit; nothing touched by fire remains the same. Whatever the original context may be, the fire of desire, to love and to be loved, ignited in Radha and Sita has transformed their lives forever.

(Figure. 30) Transformed Radha with Sita wearing bangles in the common kitchen. FR.

The narrative engagingly follows the lives of Radha and Sita and captures the moments of their newfound love. Besides, the bedroom, the most crowded and public space such as the kitchen, terrace and even the parks become sites for them, to express their love and engage erotically. The simple act of wearing bangles achieves a new meaning. Smiles occupy the formerly expressionless face of Radha. The camera taps the expressions from Mundu‟s point of view. As Mundu spends more time at home, he has a keen observation which other men in the family fail to see. According to him now, there are „two heroines in one kitchen‟. Thus the narrative is able to offer multiple perspectives. However, the music track in the non-diegetic spaces, the instrumental „Feel the Difference‟ shares Radha and Sita‟s point of view and underscores the moment of intimate transactions. The two sequences develop parallel tracks of love and danger as Mundu grows more suspicious.

(Figure. 31-32) Sita gives erotic foot massage to Radha in the park before the family. FR.

One of the very illustrious scenes quoted by scholars needs a mention. One day, the family goes for an outing to a public park in the city. After lunch, Sita offers to give foot massage to Radha. Radha feels awkward; however, Jatin insists that Sita give massage and serve „bhabhi‟, (sister-in-law). Ashok, seeing the two growing so fond of each other feels happy and says, “I am lucky to have such a good family.” Only Radha and Sita realize the irony. While giving massage Sita touches Radha erotically; Radha signals it through her eyes. Sita returns her gaze with the acknowledgement. Thus the homosocial activities, gestures of friendship and duty provide cover to Radha and Sita‟s sexual involvement (Ghosh, 84). Gopinath (2005) in her essay discusses how Fire offers a politics of subversion through the homoeroticized act of giving foot massage in the most

heterosexual space like park. She thus contends the “developmental narrative of modernity” through the politics of visibility. Gopinath points out that the same-sex love can exist and flourish in supposedly oppressive heterosexual space. The very absence of the discourse of visibility translates into an advantage for Radha and Sita.

Language of Love and Desire

The film continuously produces a vocabulary to articulate the same-sex love and desire. The body language and play of gaze between Radha and Sita prove that they do not need a specially codified language to express their erotic and emotional love for each other. In one such telling scene where Radha and Sita are playing on the terrace, a place of domestic chores becomes the site of recreation for Radha and Sita.

Figure33-34. A game turned erotic. Radha catches the sweat oozing out of Sita and licks it. FR.

Radha and Sita are playing hopscotch on the terrace. After Sita loses her turn, Radha nails down to claim her turn. She notices a trickle of sweat gushing down Sita‟s legs. In a high contrast silhouette, Radha is captured catching the droplet with her fingertip and in the most erotic manner raises it to her lips and then licks it. This act of Radha adds to the repertoire of erotic interplay between the two.

Fire: A Case of „Situational‟ Homosexuality?

Fire has been criticized by some scholars for depicting homosexuality as „situational‟ rather than a positive choice (Vanita and Kidwai 2000:203). However, this view on queer desire takes a binary approach to sexuality. The film defeats any such reading. As

Gopinath remarks, the film is more about queer desires which exist in human beings and through the fissures and cracks, inherent in the discourse of compulsory heterosexuality, gives outlet to these desires. Until Radha meets Sita, she is unaware of her ability to love and be loved by a woman. Ashok‟s sexual abstinence and Jatin‟s preoccupation with a girlfriend only make the fissures grow wide. Moreover, there is the presence of another male in the family, Mundu, who secretly fancies Radha. Sita, right from the beginning appears „modern‟, „bouncy‟ and transgressive which only makes Radha‟s choice easier. The accidental trigger of desire in Radha altogether opens a new world of erotic and emotional experiences. Radha gains a new sense of power. She gains power over her sexual agency. She gains the power to choose or reject and she exercises this power. So does Sita. In one of the scenes, when Jatin wants to have sex with Sita, she refuses to surrender leaving him surprised. In another telling scene, Radha refuses to feed Biji and asks Ashok to do it instead. Though surprised, Ashok does so. When Ashok summons Radha to bed, she refuses. However, the denial of access to their bodies does not come out of their hatred for men. Moreover, the camera catches the transition in the life of Radha as she starts looking happy. It is through their understanding that they no more can be subjected to a “compulsory heterosexuality”. Hence, dismissing the film as a trope of “situational homosexuality or lesbianism” stands unconvincing.

Blurring Lines

On one of the afternoons, after work, Sita prepares Radha for a dance. Radha looks at herself in the mirror while Sita puts make up on her (figure 35). Sita then takes Radha into the living room where Biji is lying. This is one of the most electrifying scenes. Once custom-bound Radha now dances with Sita swinging her hair freely. Sita, again in her transgressive role wearing Jatin‟s suit and a cap, dances in courting style with Radha (figure 36). The film redeploys the duet song, for the gay couple.

Figure 35-36. Radha (left) being applied make up. (Right) Radha and Sita dance before Biji and Mundu (off-screen) on an old Hindi film song. FR.

Though it is in a light mood, the song does not prevent Radha and Sita from expressing their joy of being together and in love with each other. This technique in fact, is very much a tribute to the decade long practice in Indian queer subcultures to redeploy the romantic duet songs to express their same-sex love and desire. As the performance ends Mundu shakes his head from behind the curtains and mutters, “Too much electricity”.

Discourse of Shame “Hanky-panky”

When Radha catches Mundu masturbating while watching a pornographic video in the presence of Biji, Mundu threatens her by declaring that “the hanky-panky between you and Sita madam is not good for family‟s name”. In a usual Indian sense the “hanky- panky” will be understood as an „affair‟/ illicit relationship. In this sense, the relationship between Radha and Sita is no different than an extra-marital affair. The film poses a question by juxtaposing Radha and Sita‟s relationship with that of Jatin and Julie and Ashok and Swamiji. The film does raise the question of double standard in that Jatin, being male, has the privilege of having affair and still is not be questioned; similarly Ashok too has a hyper-romantic devotion for Swamiji at the cost of Radha‟s happiness. One evening Mundu spies on Radha and Sita through the keyhole into Sita‟s bedroom and finds Radha and Sita in intimate conversation. Fearing that Radha may leave the house with Sita, he goes to the Ashram and informs Ashok. Ashok on his way back first fires Mundu and then goes towards the bedroom. Ashok peeps through the crack and

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sees Radha making love to Sita. In a state of shock, Ashok bangs open the door. In a dramatic turn what Radha and Sita say to each other is very interesting and bold, making them „modern‟ women. Sita has no regrets. In fact she is glad that Ashok discovered it. Radha, in turn remarks that she wanted to tell it to Ashok; this should not have happened by accident. Radha further questions,

What would you have said? Good bye Ashok I am leaving you for Sita. I love her but not like a sister-in law? Now listen Radha, there is no word in our language that can describe what we are, how we feel for each other. (FR).

Radha quickly responds to this, “Perhaps you are right. Seeing is less complicated”.

Many scholars questioned the director‟s intentions when she put the line „there is no word in our language that can describe what we are…” into Sita‟s mouth. Many see this as giving in to the neo-colonization in the form of the Western discourse of sexuality which has labels for sexual identity. Vanita (2002) too, seriously critiques Mehta‟s claim by offering many words used for same sex love between women in the pre-colonial times. But what is important to note is, that these are Indian women in contemporary India, speaking contemporary language which has undergone a cultural and linguistic erasure. Besides, how different is quoting words from Sanskrit from borrowing expressions from the Western discourse? One establishes cultural hegemony while the other is colonial. In this case Radha‟s solution is the best, “seeing is less complicated”. Thus the film gives priority to seeing, over verbal expressions.

Seeing Without Looking

The dramatic development near climax finally culminates into Ashok and Radha confronting each other. Cowed down by his patriarchal ego for so many years, Radha for

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the first time opens up before Ashok. Ashok says, “what I saw in the bedroom is sin in the eyes of God and Man14….Desire brings ruin…”

On the contrary, as a response to this, Radha‟s revelation is very important. Radha says:

Without desire I was dead. Without desire, there was no point in living. And you know what else… I desire to live. I desire Sita. I desire her warmth, compassion, her body. I desire to live again. (FR).

Ghosh aptly summarizes, “this is the culmination of Radha”s journey…now she can articulate her desire to desire” (94). Ashok ends up calling Radha a “shameless randy” (prostitute) and leaves while her sari catches fire. Radha struggles to save herself from the fire. The sequence fades to white.

Figure.37. Young Radha finally “sees the ocean without looking”.

It is at this moment that Radha‟s soul again has the vision in which young Radha reappears, alone in the mustard fields with closed eyes. She opens her eyes smiling and says, “I can see the ocean. I can see it.” This is the ultimate revelation for Radha.

The analysis looks into the film‟s deployment of narrative apparatus in the formation of female-female sexual bond and its resultant culmination. The analysis examines how the film disturbs the western epistemologies of the lesbian subject, in its rejection of butch/femme model and subsequently offers a reconfiguration of queer female bodies.

14Many scholars have criticized Mehta for using the lines straight from the Holy Bible. According to them no Hindu scripture has ever mentioned this.

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Framing the position of queer female desire, within domestic spaces, the film offers an alternate for queer intimacy and, subverts „home‟ as a site of repression.

3.3. Sancharram (The Journey)

Ligy J Pullappally's Sancharram (The Journey 2004) is a chronological coming-of-age story combined with romance, a beautiful and sensuous story of forbidden love between two young women.15 Visually lyrical and accompanied by a striking musical score16, the film takes the viewer deep into the heart of rural life in Kerala and throws the spotlight on the destructive forces of social expectation. The implicit intent that the director aimed at pushing through the film was to „bring positive visibility to marginalized individuals‟. Pullappally pointedly states that she wanted to make a film on female same-sex love in India to counter the negative images previously associated with Fire (1996/1998) and Girlfriend (2004). Girlfriend was released in June 2004, while Sancharram was released in October 2004. Girlfriend had managed to outrage right-wing religious groups and queer activists with its titillating depiction of women loving women (Harvey 2008).

The film is represents an addition to the league of films that invoke the rhetoric of the progressive potential of Indian society in offering civil liberty and community acceptance to its queer citizenry. The film garnered various national and international awards17. Tony Watson, a film reviewer, remarks, “This film's own qualities are so outstanding that it doesn‟t need any special allowances, implicit in promoting it as a „gay-interest‟ movie‟” (Watson 2006). However, the film faced huge opposition during its screening in Kerala. Although the film was made in Malayalam it was not commercially released and thus was not available for public viewership inside Kerala. The film was released and captured wide attention in the “first world countries” including the US, UK, France and Spain.

15Sancharram is rooted in Ligy’s second short film, Uli which had a back story about two girls in love in rural Kerala and the tragedy that transpired when they were forcibly separated from each other. Moreover, Pullappally in her interview (“Interview with the Director…” 2013) reveals that the story has its roots in a real life tragedy; a young woman, whose love affair with a classmate had been exposed, drowns herself. This happened near the city of her birth in India. 16 The music is composed by Isaac Thomas Kottukapally who won Best Musical Score Kerala State Film Award for Sancharram. 17The film won Best Debut Director, Lankesh Award 2005, Special Jury Prize John Abraham Award, Kerala, and the Chicago Award for Best Film, 40th Chicago International Film Festival.

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Within India it was available for viewing only at the film festivals and a few public screenings conducted in the different parts, mainly metropolitan cities.

3.2.1. Plot in a Nutshell

Kiran Nair Kurup is the only child of Delhi-returned Priya (Ambika Mohan) and Narayanan. The family has come back to Kerala to take up residence in Priya‟s grand ancestral tharavad18. Directly across the way lives Delilah Jacob Valiaveetil, the fourth child and the only daughter of Thressiamma (K.P.A.C. Lalitha), a Catholic Christian widow. Kiran and Delilah meet as children and though they couldn't be more different, from the moment their eyes lock, they are drawn to each other. Delilah (Shrrutti Menon) blossoms into a blistering mischievous beauty with the unconditional love of her grandmother (Valsala Menon) and despite the controlling eye of her hard-working widowed mother. Kiran (Suhasini Nair), as the only child of an intellectual father, Narayanan, and aristocratic mother Priya, matures into an introspective young woman. Theirs is an idyllic life of family and community and most of all, an enduring friendship. But when Kiran comes to terms with the fact that she is physically and emotionally attracted to Delilah and it is something she can no longer suppress, her once idyllic and familiar world is shattered. Embarrassed by her desire for Delilah and acknowledging that she herself can never realize the object of her affection, Kiran agrees to help a mutual friend Rajan (Shyam Seethal), pursue Delilah by writing poetic love letters on his behalf. However, through a strange circumstance, Delilah is dazed to discover that Kiran is the suitor behind Rajan‟s poetic efforts. Astoundingly, Delilah responds to Kiran positively. She declares that she always loved her.

What follows is a romance that improves both young women in many ways. As the time passes, the secret and forbidden love between the two blossoms under the guise of friendship. However, the secret gets discovered in three dramatic phases. Delilah‟s grandmother first discovers the growing affection between the two. Though concerned, she prefers not to disclose or even discuss it. The second time is when the class teacher

18Tharavad is a matrilineal system of joint family that was practiced by people in Kerala, especially Nairs till the 1st half of the 20th century.

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finds out about their growing passion for each other through a letter that Kiran writes for Delilah, probably a poem expressing her intense feeling. The teacher merely warns them. But when the girls‟ secret is discovered by Rajan, Delilah‟s suitor, scandal sweeps the village and Delilah‟s socially-motivated mother demands that the relationship end. Worse still, to save her reputation and the family name, an arranged marriage is planned for Delilah. On the other hand, Kiran‟s mother threatens her to disown her if she makes any attempt of running away with Delilah.

The scandal triggers both, a tragic and triumphant culmination. After all the efforts fail, Kiran decides to end her life by jumping off the hill. While on the verge of committing suicide, Kiran withdraws and resolves to move on in her life.

Pullappally in an interview mentions that among the many reasons for making this film was:

[…] to respond to the Indian film "Fire" …I enjoyed "Fire" very much, but found the idea of the women choosing to be with each other because they weren‟t satisfied with their male relationships, unconvincing. There appears to be a common misconception that women become gay because of a lack of suitable men. My personal belief is that homosexuality has little to do with either the actions or inactions of the opposite gender. In addition, "Fire" is an English language film in an urban setting. I made my film to reflect the more traditional gay experience in India. My characters are unapologetically gay and speak a regional South Indian language. (Bhattacharya 2006)

In the light of the director‟s intent, genesis of the film and outline of the narrative, the semiotic examination is attempted to find out how the film configures the positive repertoire of images and the narrative on Indian female homosexuality.

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3.3.2. Analysis

Social Agenda- Suicide Trope

In the establishing sequence with which the film narrative opens, Kiran in a white Kurta Pajama is standing on the edge of a hill, down under which runs a river. From its mid shot position the camera moves in the aerial (vantage point) position panning down on Kiran but at the same time providing the view of the river in the deep valley suggesting the impending suicide.

Figure 38-40. Kiran on the verge of jumping off the cliff in the opening scene. SNCH

As Kiran is about to throw herself into the river, an intense feminine voice is heard. Kiran looks back. The camera assumes the audience‟s position and looks in the direction in which Kiran is looking, searching the body behind the voice. When the camera gaze returns to see Kiran, she is gone out of the frame. The background score, shifting from contemplative flute to vibrant Chenda, amplifies the dramatic intensity introduced by camera. This scene is vital in positioning the narrative of the film in the immediate context of alarming evil of the young women‟s suicides in the state19 (V N Deepa 2005).Though an apparent digression, a mention must be made of Padmarajan‟s 1986 Malayalam film, Desatanakkili Karayarilla that had sensitively depicted the emotional turmoil of young women driven to end their lives. The opening scene of Sancharram does invoke the cinematic memories of Desadnakkili…. The film was a story of two

19Deepa V. N., thefounder of the Kerala- based sexual minority rights group Sahayatrika, has documented at least 24 cases of Lesbian suicide pacts between 1996 and 2004 in the state of Keralaall of whom appear to have taken their lives after beingforced into marriages or to separate from their female lovers.

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school girls who run away while on a school trip and in the dramatic development of emotional turmoil commit suicide. As discussed in Chapter Two the narrative of Desatanakkili… only in a very subtle manner hints at the possibility of a lesbian angle to the relationship between the girls. Sancharram‟s narrative opens precisely at that point which has a similar climax however it culminates into a new resolution.

Though the narrative is a story of two individuals, it serves as cover for the larger community that is silenced by the dominant discourse of hetero-patriarchal economies. This is attempted through the handling of the issue of lesbian suicides that plagues the homosexual community in reality, especially women, who are denied by family and society to be together because of their sexual orientation.

According to Gopinath (2007) there are multiple registers such as the local, the regional, the national, the diasporic and the transnational, within which the film gains meaning. For her from a diasporic transnational positionality the film surpasses a national frame; instead it interpellates a transnational lesbian and gay viewership in its framing of the struggle of its heroines through these transnational discourses. Sancharram therefore allows us to consider the formation of a transnational lesbian/feminist subject through the use of a regional linguistic and aesthetic idiom. “Bringing into national and international visibility the unmarked deaths of scores of young people due to the violence of heteronormativity is indisputably a necessary and laudable project” (Gopinath 346). The invocation of Euro-American human-rights-based framing of queer sexuality through the trope of lesbian suicide should be looked at, as an effective strategy. This is referred here as rhetoric, thus offering a configuration that is a mix of the local and the global.

Translating this rhetoric, as the Western discourse on human rights needs to be questioned. Where is the „liberal‟ discourse of “universalizing rhetoric of rights and justice” in the case of films such as cross-cultural romantic tragedy „Ek Duuje ke liye‟ (1981 Made for Each Other), a Hindi film by K. Balchander, a remake of his own national award winning Telugu film Maro Charaitra (1978)? Many such examples from Indian regional and Hindi cinema can be cited to illustrate the point that Sancharram does not necessarily borrow its rhetoric from the Western discourse on human rights.

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Sancharram‟s plot fits the same template of romantic tragedy of series of such films. Hence, attributing the „liberal‟ discourse to only the Euro-American human rights based framing of „queer sexuality‟ would be prejudicial to the existing Indian cinematic discourses.

Queering Rural Kerala

The film is set amongst a lush natural backdrop in a small village in the Indian state of Kerala. This setting has multiple levels of significance. Firstly, it indicates a movement away from the glamorized, urban images and settings of mainstream Bollywood cinema which dominate the popular culture scene. It shows the possibility of lesbian love existing in villages and other rural areas where urban influences are at a minimum. This then falsifies claims made by certain groups of people that homosexuality does not exist in Indian culture, that is a foreign „other‟ and a product of „Westernization‟. Secondly, the lyrical images of nature and abundant water bodies are closely associated with Kiran and Delilah and their love for each other. It hints at the fluid and open sexuality of the two female protagonists and how grounded their sexuality is in the natural ways of life.

Sancharram explores universal issues of the dialectics of social and family pressures versus being true to oneself, of intolerance and persecution of anyone who is „different‟ and of the individual‟s coming to terms with one‟s identity on one‟s own terms. It is also remarkable for its portrayal of several exceptionally strong women characters.They are representative of a matrilineal society in a progressive and politically aware state, where women have the right to inherit and own property, to be educated andwork outside home, even though the larger social structure defines the social and moral codes, essentially patriarchal and heterosexual.

In Gopinath‟s opinion the narrative uses the space of region as a way of decentering and destabilizing dominant nationalist narratives and of foregrounding “other” narratives that tell an entirely different story of gender and sexuality (2007:342). She further comments, “by making the regional the locus of queer female desire, the film queers the space of home and origin, in much the same way that Fire does in its North Indian, urban context”

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(351). For Gopinath, because the film is located in a tangential state like Kerala, it does not affect the notion of nation as Fire did. This could have been a valid point, had Sancharram been screened in Hindi, in major cities across the country. Ironically, the film was not screened even in Kerala. Hence, Gopinath‟s national vurses regional argument becomes weak.

Judith Halberstam (in Gopinath 2007) argues that the emphasis on the urban as the center of queer life and subjectivity obscures nonmetropolitan (particularly rural) sexual formations.The narrative of Sancharram counterposes a model of a “global gay” subject who is imagined as always and everywhere male, elite, urban and cosmopolitan. This helps in shifting out critical lens from the gay male public cultures of the global city such as Mumbai, to non-metropolitan locations that are equally saturated by global processes. This allows the viewers to foreground those spaces and bodies that are elided within dominant narratives of global gayness. The „other‟ sexual culture here is enacted by female subjects and takes place in the confines of the home, school and local spaces that there positioning permits (Gopinath 344).

It is precisely this regional, historical and cinematic frame in which the film positions and concurrently constructs the queer.Critiquing the depiction of Kerala in the film, Gopinath says, “While the film jumps forward in time to the present day and Kiran as a young woman, the film‟s portrayal of Kerala remains curiously dehistoricized and decontextualized. There is no sense of the rapid industrialization and global processes that have impacted even the most remote areas of Kerala” (348). It seems that Gopinath from her diasporic positionality is more interested in seeing the narrative, with the growing industrialization and globalization in the backdrop rather than the suicide cases of young women in the present day Kerala. Moreover, Sancharram‟s generic frame of fiction film, allows it to take certain liberties.

Matrilineality and Kurup Belonging

The next scene opens with a shot of an old tharavad (an ancestral, joint family household), its distinctive architecture of sloped tiled roofs and solid teak pillars offers a

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familial and familiar landscape. However, Gopinath (2007) remarks that the familiar landscape gets „oddly defamiliarized in the context‟ of viewing it translated onto the screen.The very reference to Tharavad brings the mummified matrilineal system back into play. Arunima (2003) in her study about Nair matriliny in Kerala testifies, that the matrilineal (28) kinship system in Kerala has so far been the only kinship system in the world that was abolished through legal measurements (Arunima 2003).

Figure 41-43: Kiran surveys her matrilineal Tharvad and the ancestral ornaments with her mother. SNCH.

The documents show that Malabar Marriage Bill of 1887 and later the Madras Marrumakkathayam Act of 1933 dismantled the Nair matrilineal system (mother centred family form where mothers inherited the property) which was finally formally abolished to establish nuclear, monogamous, patrilineal „modern‟ family. Sancharram obliquely references this complex history of gender and sexuality in Kerala, not only in its depiction of the homosocial/homoerotic intimacies between the two girls, but also in the sidelining of men in the film. This raises serious theoretical concerns (Gopinath 2007). In her Ph. D. thesis, Mokkil specifically draws attention to the risks involved in returning to this past which in itself is “memory of an upper caste pre-colonial past” and “results in an erasure of the challenges faced by sexuality politics in the present” (2010: 50). While both Mokkil and Gopinath impeccably point out the technical flaw, much of the energy of their argument goes into commenting on the regional historical appropriations. The film might also be seen as making a political statement that the matrilineal system has not

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been fully erased. Besides, the very presence of the suicides of young women in the backdrop, does locate the film in the present.

Kaur (2010) comments that both Kiran and Delilah have complicated relations to their mothers and grandmothers while men in the family remain somewhat peripheral and removed. This, however, is a lopsided observation. Since Delilah loses her father at the very early age, the family does not have much presence of men. The brothers live in cities. In the case of Kiran, she has more emotional proximity with her father than with her mother. Kiran is a papa‟s baby. She drops out of sports and takes to writing only on the suggestion of her father. Hence, these claims need to be reexamined. But the film also cautions against recuperating this matrilineal past as an idyllic or utopian proto-lesbian space.

Engraving Young Lovers

Figure: 44-45 Pubescent Kiran (left) and Delilah (right). SNCH The narrative sums up Kiran and Delilah‟s childhood in one episode and transits to the pubescent age. The viewers meet a grown up Kiran who loves writing poetry. She does not have her ears pierced nor does she like long hair. She says, “if my parents would let me, I‟d cut it all off.” It is also made evident that Kiran had her interest in sports, however giving in to the family pressure she drops out of sports and takes to writing poetry, thus orienting her energies towards another creative outlet. Though placed within matrilineal discourse, gender subjectivities get highlighted. Delilah, on the other hand, becomes a zealous and beautiful girl with bubbly smiles. Delilah‟s visual presence is seen through Kiran‟s point of view most of the time. What strikes in the signification of the

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young lovers is that it is not West conscious. The film does not deploy any overt signifiers of „butch/dyke‟20 and „femme‟or „lipstick lesbians‟21 known in the West, in defining these characters. Kiran defines her femininity in her own way. Kiran does not oppose her family when asked to drop out of sports. However, she opposes the superimposition of compulsory heterosexuality when her mother suggests that she get married. Kiran‟s desire to wear Kurta Pajama and cut hair short comes only as a symbolic act of fighting the hostile tradition. Thus it becomes strategic. Delilah on the other hand, not only embraces but also celebrates her femininity except her passionate attraction for Kiran. Ultimately, it‟s only the desire for each other that becomes the signifier in the formation of queerness of these characters.

Queer Love as Mystery

Figure 46. The mystic Kakathi, professing the future of Kiran and Delilah. SNCH

One of the strategies that the narrative uses to firmly establish same sex desire/romantic love within the cultural and regional spaces is the positioning of the Kakathi. The mysterious looking Kakathi, the palm reader who stops by and reads the palms of the girls, predicts “you will be in love very soon. It‟ll be as powerful as the love that bound Siva to Parvathi.” Given the background of the old Kakathi, she is not exposed to the educated metropolitan discourse of terms like „lesbian‟ or „gay‟. Neither does she exhibit

20 A lesbian who is notably masculine in appearance or manner 21 A slang for lesbians who exhibits a greater

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homophobic shock while reading the palms of the girls. Her mysterious laughter and cry „Miraga… Miraga‟ only heightens the drama. The deployment of a culturally rooted image of Kakathi serves as a subversion of the dominant hetero-patriarchal claimsof same sex desire‟s foreignness.

Pleasurable Intimacies and Homosocial Spaces

Figure.47-48. Kiran and Delilah, playing and dancing. SNCH

The gender-segregated spaces allow for forms of female homosocial intimacy that tip quite seamlessly into homoeroticism. These are called “pleasurable intimacies” (T. Muraleedharan) of the socially sanctioned homosocial spaces that exist in rural India. The narrative uses a cinematic trope of game to articulate the innermost feelings of Kiran for Delilah. This is captured in a sequence where Kiran and Delilah are studying in Delilah‟s bedroom in the evening. The Light goes off, the lantern is lit. It starts raining with thunder and lightning. Bored, Delilah starts playing with the puppet and coaxes Kiran into a shadow puppet show. The camera beautifully captures in a mid close shot taken from the spectator‟s point-of-view angle the interplay of shadows internal and external. Foregrounded in the frame are Kiran (right) and Delilah (left) with their respective shadows on the lantern lit wall. Next to Kiran‟s shadow is a „masculine‟ figure of the farmer and that of Delilah is a „feminine‟ figure of the princess. Thus, a symbolic couple formation appears disguised in a heterosexual rhetoric. The story that they engage in telling further reinforces their innermost feelings for each other.

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Delilah: I am a princess. Is there anyone who will rescue me from the drudgery and boredom? Will no one rescue this beautiful princess? Kiran: If it is a consort, you are looking for…won‟t I do? I am a hard- working farmer. I have a house of my own. But I will love you. I will cherish you forever. (Kiran is seen in a close up shot so that her feelings can be captured). Delilah: Oh, I love you too. (Thunder and lightning is heard in the background mixed with extra diegetic sound of romantic music) But I won‟t be content to live in a farm. I wish to travel the world. I want everything. Everything! So see you! (Delilah hits on the head of the puppet and knocks it down) Kiran: Princess, you have broken my heart. (SNCH).

The scene not only arouses the homoromantic emotions, but also sets the tone of further action giving enough hints of their romantic journey and tragic end.

The immediate next scene uses dance to bring out the interplay of their mutual erotic interest in each other. The Siva Parvathi dance poses are very much homoerotically charged (Figure.48). The Chenda beats assuming the extra diegetic space intensify the interplay. The use of motif of a traditional Indian dance form to portray the love and desire of the two women marks a shift from using tropes that are embedded in the Hollywood tradition of romance and sexual desire, hence making new configurations possible to be imagined. Thus, Sancharram disrupts the codes and conventions of heterosexual romantic couplehood existing in Malayalam cinema by deploying them to the love between Kiran and Delilah, and taking away the sole claim on the codes.

This may be seen as a useful addition to models of scholarship on popular culture where cultural practices are revisited in order to locate a “range of oppositional practices, subjectivities and alternate visions of collectivity that fall outside the development narratives of colonialism, bourgeois nationalism, mainstream liberal feminism and mainstream gay and lesbian politics and theory” (Gopinath 2005: 20).

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Dreaming Desire

The film deploys focalization effectively through the dream sequence. It is through this technique that the film gives access to the innermost desires of Kiran‟s character. Kiran's mystical dream of Delilah dancing in a darkened room gives access to Kiran‟s innermost desires, which are queer by the mere value of them being not about a man. In her most compassionate and desirable form, Delilah in red saree flashes in and out of the shadows (figure 51) as the drum beat intensifies. Delilahs‟ movements combined with the music and her transfixed facial expression is mesmerizing (figure 49-50). Upon awakening in a cold sweat Kiran is now fully aware that her affection for Delilah is more than just friendship.

Figure 49-51 (Clockwise) Delilah in Kiran‟s dream vision– Figure 52 Mortified by the dream Kiran looks into the mirror. SNCH

The one minute long dream vision, in the form of Montage, captures Delilah‟s sensuous beauty in 30 quick shots with an interplay between close ups and extreme close up. Kiran‟s dream not only offers access to Kiran‟s innermost same sex desire, but brings out the sensual beauty very much coded in the cultural apparatus of dance and music.

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Delilah‟s dance poses resemble the sensuous dance mudras of Nataraja, the lord of dance, while the drum beats that intensify the grace of the dance, is the popular folk musical instrument Chenda.

Disturbed by the dream, Kiran wakes up and stands before the mirror (Figure 52). The camera assumes Kiran‟s point of view allowing the audience to empathize with her. Kiran is positioned in the locale where she has no access to the history of such a narrative of same sex feeling which would orient her through this turmoil. The second possibility that the text opens, is with the character of grandmother. It suggests such a history has always been silenced. The only recourse that Kiran has for expression of her desire and feelings for Delilah is to turn to words.

Shifting Gaze

Figure 53-54: Kiran watches Delilah who she has fallen in love with secretly. SNCH.

Vision such as dream, the act of Looking/gazing and being looked at, are deployed very effectively in the film. In fact, the very act of looking gives agency to the female subjects. The camera assumes Kiran‟s position through the deployment of point of view shots. The audience access Delilah‟s face, through Kiran‟s position. Camera‟s lingering on Delilah‟s face and movements, is from Kiran‟s point of view. The narrative gives considerable screen time to Kiran‟s gaze.

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Parallel Track of Love

Kiran uses poetry as a tool to express her desires for Delilah. Kiran pens this, having given up on the possibility of expressing herself, as a ghost writer for their common teenage male friend, Rajan who has a crush on the „seductively‟ beautiful Delilah. Hence, those letters that are meant to express queer love are written, in a man‟s voice to a woman, being forcibly drafted within the paradigm of compulsory heterosexuality, leaving little scope for an alternate expression. Yet, these are the letters that get written and get delivered.

„My dearest, I know not what love is, But perhaps I will find it tomorrow or some other day… Until then, I‗ll worship you from the depth of anonymity… I see a love awaiting me like a threatening cloud Caught in the distant horizon of my life‘s journey Like a cold, dark night, Love must one day wed our skies. You and I, like fireflies, will soar into that darkening sky… My dearest, may your wings be borne by strength.‘22 (SNCH) The film succeeds in making a case for the engendered expression for queer feelings, thus drawing home that same sex love is no different in its expression or intensity. This relocation of the queer desire from the territory of an emotionless sensual act of physical intimacy is seen as a kind of orientation of the supposedly straight viewer.

22Reproduced from the English subtitles provided in the film.

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Figure. 55. The frame captures deeply affected Kiran and casual looking Rajan. SNCH In another very telling scene Rajan informs Kiran „a bride-viewing party went to Delilah‟s to fix a marriage. The camera in a close up shot brings within the frame Rajan and Kiran (Figure 55). Kiran is foregrounded while Rajan is in the background. The camera further heightens Kiran‟s emotional turmoil by sharp focus on her face while blurring Rajan‟s. Juxtaposing Kiran with Rajan within the frame serves to treat them as equal. However, by capturing the expressions of both, it also shows that Rajan is very casual about this development while Kiran is deeply affected. Moreover, the flute in the background brings the non-diegetic and the diegetic world in symbiosis to signify the intensity of Kiran‟s emotions.

Politics of „Intimacy‟

Sexual intimacy has been the most recurrent signifiers in Queer cinema, Western and Indian alike. A usual romantic film may not have scenes involving sexual intimacy but many queer films do give screen time to the physical intimacy between the characters. Sancharram is no exception to this practice. Scenes involving visible physical intimacy have been quite controversial. Hence what becomes interesting to observe is how the film deploys the cinematic apparatus.

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Figure 56-61. Collage of a visual language of female intimacy. SNCH

In this scene Kiran and Delilah meet for the first time after Kiran has revealed her desire for love to Delilah. The scene takes place in the water tank where the two girls habitually bathe. The camera captures the movement strategically. As Kiran and Delilah sit on the steps leading down to the water, Delilah tentatively reaches out to touch Kiran‟s face. The camera continuously moves panning from left to right and back again, accompanied by an evocative soundtrack of flutes and drums. The scene fades to black at key moments, selectively revealing images of striking visual beauty that appear almost as still photographs: the reflection of water and the play of light on skin, strands of wet hair, eyes closing, a hand caressing a leg. (Figure: 56-59)

Commenting on the intimate scene, Gopinath remarks that the scene “encapsulates both the developmentalist logic of the film and its resistance and repudiation of this logic” (349). For Gopinath the scene sums up, the film‟s “problematic collapsing of various temporalities as it nostalgically evokes Kerala as a space outside of history” (349). Gopinath‟s criticism of film maker as immature diasporic comes from her positionality as a diasporic Keralite and her expectation of a „realistic‟ film. However, it needs to be

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noted that the film is not a docudrama though it takes its inspiration from the real life situations and tries to address social issue like lesbian suicides.

Representation, according to Karen Gabriel (at qtd in Manan et al)

is governed by laws and gender regimes [and particularly] cinematic representation is also moderated by social and customary rules, as well as by regulations like censorship laws. All of these supply and apply to the fields of sexuality, pleasure and (their) cinematic representation in which signs are assembled towards a larger economy of meaning (241).

This amply explains the logic behind designing the physical intimacy on the screen spaces. Gopinath offers a convincing logic that “the scene …suggests that the regional sexualities may in fact elude the discourses of visibility and modernity that so mark dominant nationalist narratives, as well as transnational narratives of global gay or feminist subjectivities” (349). However, convincing it may be, other possibilities do exist. In the depiction of the scene, the film borrows Indian cinematic idiom. This could be seen not only as a strategic distancing from the Western imagery but a cultural reclamation. Another possibility is that this could be out of fear of being attacked under the politically overused and abused notion of „perversion‟ and „obscenity‟ rather than offering an alternate aesthetic logic. It can be said that the camera giving us glimpses, fragmented shots of a hand on a waist, a foot hitting the water and the blankness between these shortened images on one level speaks to the demands placed on Pullappally by the Indian Censor Board.

Moreover, the narrative privileges the soundtrack over the image track as a gesture of the desires and subjectivities that exist beneath the threshold of the visible. For Gopinath these desires “evade the scrutinizing gaze of the state, and cannot be contained within developmentalist nationalist, gay or feminist narratives” (350). This reading becomes important especially in the backdrop of Karan Razdan‟s treatment of „sex scene‟ between the lead female characters in Girlfriend (2004). The film exploits the „sex‟ potential so as to cater to the conventional male gaze for whom lesbian sex is just a way of sensual

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arousal and amusement. Hence, the scene in Sancharram though audacious for many, due to its explicit articulation of female same sex desire, does not become exploitative.

Spectral Presence of Hetero-patriarchal Surveillance

Figure 62. Deliliah and Kiran look Shame ridden after the love making. SNCH.

The scene that follows immediately after love making scene brings out the spectral presence of hetero-patriarchal surveillance of individual bodies. As seen in Figure 62, the frame positions Delilah in the foreground and at a distance in the background is Kiran. Though both are positioned in the space away from the panoptic surveillance of society, they look „ashamed‟. The camera stays still for a while to give the sense of inner conflict of the characters. The narrative very effectively drives home a point that the societal surveillance has been internalized by the characters so much that its absence is conspicuous. Secondly, the very absence of any visible archetype of the kind of love they feel for each other, makes them impaired to make sense of what they feel for each other. To test the validity of their feelings they turn to each other. This is captured in the dialogue that follows

Delilah: I don‟t know... Kiran: What don‟t you know? Delilah: If this is right or… Kiran (coming closer): What do you feel?

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Delilah: I don‟t know. I feel afraid. (Kiran hugs Delilah) Delilah: Will you be with me always? (Kiran nods muttering „always‟) I love you. I have always loved you. (SNCH) The confession despite confusion is strongly articulated in this scene.The scene is remarkable as the narrative offers a possibility of imagining homosexuality without recourse to the rhetoric of „identity‟ crisis.

Gaze as Social Surveillance and Discourse of Shame

Figure 63-64 The teacher and Rajan as agents of societal surveillance. SNCH.

Foucault (1978) speaks of the panoptic „gaze‟, the ever-present societal mechanism of surveillance, in which people watch and judge each other, thus enforcing self-regulation (141). This is seen at work in many scenes in the film. This inspecting gaze also functions by shaming bodies into regulation. Through this kind of method, the modern political state can exercise power directly upon bodies, which are accordingly categorized, criminalized and punished (Sturken and Cartwright 2001: 97). This comment is applicable to Sancharram as well. Within the diegetic spaces of the film, the village folk, Rajan a male schoolmate and the teacher become the agents of societal surveillance. They enjoy the privileged and superior positions. The disciplinarian gaze of the teacher treats them guilty of the queer feelings (Figure 63) when she seizes the love letter from Delilah. Rajan too has the privilege of being male and heterosexual. He watches (Figure 64) Kiran and Delilah getting intimate and informs Delilah‟s mother. Within the narrative spaces

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their gaze is positioned at crucial times. As a result, the bodies are categorized as queer and punished by being separated.

The film follows cinematic formulas and generic conventions that have long conditioned audiences, to feel sympathy towards the protagonists of this kind of story. In encouraging audiences to sympathize with its star-crossed lovers, the film also implicitly encourages the audience to identify conservative spaces as problematic and unjust.

The film offers a peculiar signification by positioning the queer sexualities of the main characters, within the larger discourse of shame and familial (dis)honour. The discourse is not exclusively about same sex couple formation. Even in heterosexual couple formation, communal validity is the criterion. Any couple formation outside that valid combination is said to bring shame and dishonor to the family‟s name. In the film, while the romantic relation between Kiran and Delilah is foregrounded, the narrative has in the subplot, the love story of their classmates, Sabiah, daughter of a local Muslim, Haji Ali and the son of a local Hindu Brahmin, Vakkathot Gopalan. They run away assuming the opposition from their respective families and scandal sweeps the village. Such is the fabric of the socio cultural arrangement of lives. Women in the neighborhood, assume the position of chorus, the conservative cultural consciousness that is instrumental in ensuring that the girl is „shamed‟ and the girl‟s family is „dishonored‟. So the narrative consciously juxtaposes the female same sex desire with that of heterosexual desire within the hetero-patriarchal discourse. While privileging heterosexual-couple formation „compulsory heterosexuality‟ functions with its own set of tolerable rules that should not be flouted and that do not provide a safe haven from notions such as shame and disrepute. Positioning queer desire and queer subjectivities thus, allows looking at the „Indian queer‟ in a frame other than those offered by the Western narratives. This shift in the frame not only disrupts the notion of a monolithic global queer identity but enables the complexities associated to be unraveled.

Delilah‟s grandmother becomes a prime evidence of the history of silence of queer sexual desires. Pullappally says in her interview that the grandmother does not think that the lesbian relationship is something bad or that it is the end of the world because “maybe

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she had a relationship of her own” (Interview to Warn Sarah 2005). Not only does the comment of Pullappally offer a queer reading of the character of grandmother but within the narrative space there are a couple of scenes that insinuate such a reading in a very subtle and oblique manner.

Sin, Shame and Sickness - Hetero-Patriarchal Versions of Queerness

Figure 65-67Delilah receives a series of corrective actions after being found „guilty‟. SNCH.

After being scandalously exposed Delilah is under house arrest. In a dramatic succession of shots almost forming a collage, the film brings out the hetero-patriarchal perception of same sex desire.

Mother: Don‟t you care for your family‟s reputation? Uncle: (venomously) you had fun, haven‟t you? The Priest: Don‟t worry, dear. God forgives all sinners. (SNCH).

The sequence not only offers the dominant perception about same sex desire or act from a hetero-patriarchal viewpoint but also brings out the technologies at work that shape this knowledge of queer subjects. The mother‟s outlook is purely within the social discourse of shame, associated with the middle class mindset as she is concerned about the family‟s „reputation‟. This places the queer female sexuality in the „shame‟ paradigm with other acts such as love union between socially and communally disparate cross sex individuals. As mentioned earlier, the treatment given to Kiran and Delilah does not differ from that

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of Haji Ali‟s daughter and Gopalan‟s son. However, the onus of „reputation‟/ „shame‟ is placed on the female body rather than the male body.

Secondly, the uncle‟s remark is notorious. He looks at the relation between the girls merely as „fun‟ which in the Indian context means sexual pleasure. It invokes the similar notion prevalent in Hindi known as „masti‟. The third comment around the idea of „sin‟ by the priest enables the transnational Non-South Asian audience to associate themselves with the character. The discourse of „sin‟ is prevalent within the Christian perspective. The camera shows Delilah is her static posture with sidelined composition while other characters walk in and out of the frame.

While all three remarks highlight the social mores prevalent around the sexual conduct of women, their very categorization of sexuality is an acknowledgement that such a sexual act is not new or foreign to the land that is presumably still unaffected by the Western discourse of globalized queer identity politics.

Moreover, Kiran‟s mother calls her „unnatural‟, „sick‟ and in the need of „treatment‟ because „nobody will accept [her]‟. Ironically, the land that is not familiar with the Western discourse of sexual identity is inflicted with the „pathological‟ discourse around queer sexuality. This is probably because Kiran‟s mother is „educated‟ and has lived in the metropolitan city of Delhi. So the discourse of the educated speaks in the language of „pathology‟.

Kiran‟s father clearly states that she has to „understand [her] limitations‟ in being a woman and a lesbian and that it is different for her uncle Govindan, who is gay since he is a man. This clearly illustrates the double-whammy of being a lesbian, since although homosexuality is condemned; homosexual men still are in a better situation than homosexual women. It also shows the hypocrisy that lies in a society that prides itself for its matrilineal traditions, where ultimately the patriarchal system triumphs with men still getting a better lot in life than women despite flouting the tenets of compulsory heterosexuality.

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Lesbian Outcast and Celebration of Compulsory Heterosexuality

Figure 68-69. Contrasting frames of Rajan and Kiran. SNCH.

In the series of events that follow the outing tellingly brings out the privileging of heterosexuality. Delilah‟s family fixes her marriage with Sebastian to avoid further shame. Rajan and Kiran are saddened by the news. Rajan being a heterosexual male openly shares his pain with his friends who console him, while for the same feeling Kiran is outcasted. The camera juxtaposes them in two frames. Kiran‟s singling out (figure.69) is contrasted with Rajan being consoled by many friends (figure.68). A girl from Kiran‟s class tries to consol her but is discouraged by the taunting of other female classmates. Thus, Kiran becomes an outcast. The narrative, through the juxtaposition, compels the viewers to witness the discrimination mated out to Kiran.

The film‟s narrative seems to present binary oppositions. It represents a world with specific rules as to what is prescribed versus forbidden, desired versus feared, profitable versus unprofitable. These systems of semiotic meanings determine which actions, behaviours, identities and relationships are considered acceptable in the represented world of the narrative. Greimas uses the word „epistemy‟ to describe particular semiotic social hierarchies, including those depicted in texts (Armstrong 1977, 322).The heterosexual epistemy limits any sexual relationships which in terms of Greimasian semiotic square, are on the axis of the forbidden, feared, and unacceptable.

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The Journey Continues…

Figure 70-71: Kiran contemplating suicide, throwing the cut hair in the water. SNCH.

The closing sequence of the film is remarkable and also revolutionary. Camera captures Kiran‟s struggle to get her love back and after having lost the last chance, her struggle to choose between life and death. The storyturns very cinematic in the Indian sense, as it uses recurrent trope of telepathy between the characters. While Kiran contemplates committing suicide, she hears Delilah‟s voice. What follows is the most evocative image of a chrysalis turning into a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. It becomes analogous with Kiran‟s final awakening (Chakraborty 2014. n.p.). The final images of the girls walking away, turning around to look at each other and fading are filled with poignancy. Pullappally in her interview said, “I wanted to make a point, that getting the girl or getting the boy does not always have to be the objective, sometimes the point can be about loving yourself, and being true to yourself” (Bhattcharya, 2006).

The ending of Sancharram also implies that Kiran leaves behind the regional, provincial, and nonmetropolitan and enters a modern, probably thelesbian subjectivity. As mentioned earlier, in the final scene Kiran is seen holding clumps of her waist- length hair that she has just cut off and letting the strands catch in the wind and flow into the water. The viewers then see her walking away from the camera, her hair now stylishly coiffed to shoulder length. For a diasporic critc like Gopinath, the scene brings together a global gay discourse with a liberal feminist discourse, for, it quite clearly signals Kiran‟s rebirth and renewal as a transnational feminist subject, at the same time, as a lesbian one. Gopinath further remarks,

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While Kiran becomes increasingly more masculine as the film progresses, particularly in relation to Delilah‟s sensuous femininity, this last scene pulls back from any hint of gender non- conformity and instead positions Kiran as a modern, metropolitan lesbian/feminist subject rather than a queer – or butch – one (347).

However, the presumption that Delilah “remains mired in the deadening strictures of normative femininity and heterosexuality” lies in another assumption of denial of „bisexual‟ agency to Delilah. Delilah‟s making space for Rajan to flirt with her, does question this assumption. Delilah‟s character emerges as fluid while Kiran‟s get defined more as lesbian.

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