It has been an agonizing August for Indian women. The month began with the tragic murder of a medical student in Kolkata, sparking widespread outrage across the nation. The heartbreaking slogan, “beti padhi par bachi nahin” (the daughter studied but could not survive), echoed in the streets, capturing the public’s grief and anger. Adding fuel to the fire, a champion wrestler was publicly fat-shamed by a woman Member of Parliament from the film industry for failing to meet her weight category by a mere 100 grams.
However, amid this gloom, there emerged silver linings on the cinematic screen. In a month otherwise marred by incidents of injustice, films provided a sanctuary where women confronted and challenged societal norms. One standout was Anand Ekarshi’s Malayalam drama “Aattam” (The Play), which secured a podium finish at the National Awards. The film laid bare how even the safest and most progressive environments could become hostile when women step forward to speak about their plights. Set in the world of theater and cinema, the narrative unmasked men who purported to support gender sensitivity only when it served their interests.
The timing of the National Awards announcement coincided with the Kerala government’s long-awaited release of the Justice Hema Committee report. This report, submitted four-and-a-half years ago, exposed the rampant harassment and discrimination women face in the Malayalam film industry, administered by a powerful lobby of male producers, directors, and actors. While the delay in making the report public drew criticism, it marked a significant first—an Indian government forming a panel to study the specific challenges faced by women in the film industry. The issues highlighted in the report don’t just resonate in Kerala but echo across the nation. Bollywood, for instance, is rife with tales of gender discrimination and the notorious ‘casting couch,’ but many such complaints often get swept under the rug.
The report was thrust into the limelight while Christo Tomy’s “Ullozhukku” (Undercurrent) garnered acclaim on streaming platforms and at the Kerala State Awards. The film, set in a flood-ravaged village where water becomes a metaphor for emotional upheaval, tackled the entrenched societal norms imposed on women. Featuring phenomenal performances by Urvashi and Parvathy, “Ullozhukku” delves into the nuanced relationships between women, particularly exploring the bond between a mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law after cancer claims the life of their familial link. The narrative sensitively questions who controls a woman’s body, both before and after marriage, shedding light on the Christian community’s entanglement with sectarianism and patriarchy in Kerala.
Furthering the on-screen dialogue about women’s relationships was Kiran Rao’s “Laapataa Ladies,” which was recently screened for Supreme Court judges.
. This film employs a lighter touch to highlight the unyielding societal norms placed on women. Rao peels back the layers of entrenched patriarchy, spotlighting the invisibility of women in societal structures. In the film, Jaya represents resilience as she escapes the confinements of tradition, while Phool, who epitomizes naivety, clings to outdated cultural norms. When left to fend for herself on a railway platform, she hides behind a dustbin prominently labeled “use me,” symbolizing her perceived disposability.
The dustbin also plays a symbolic role in Nithilan Swaminathan’s “Maharaja.” In this narrative, a father uses the dustbin metaphor during a police station visit to describe his missing daughter. This powerful image serves as a narrative device to expose the predators who have shattered his hopes. Though different in genre and treatment, both “Laapataa Ladies” and “Maharaja” highlight the bureaucratic hurdles and corruption that victims must navigate. The protagonists’ plight in needing to bribe police officers underscores a systemic failure that compounds their suffering.
Meanwhile, Nikkhil Advani’s “Vedaa” brings to the forefront a Dalit girl’s unyielding spirit against caste and moral policing. Despite featuring male saviors, the courage and determination of the girls in these films are far from superficial. They exude genuine grit, standing tall against a backdrop of societal oppression.
In stark contrast to the human monsters depicted in these films, Amar Kaushik’s “Stree 2” offers a satirical take on demons arising from the dead to perpetuate patriarchy. These spectral beings prey on women who dare to defy traditional norms in education, love, and personal choices. Pankaj Tripathi’s character, with his affable Hindi, reminds viewers that the length of a woman’s braid is irrelevant; short-haired women can equally derail male chauvinism. This message harks back to a socialist leader’s gibe at short-haired women during the 1997 Women’s Reservation Bill debate.
While real-life tragedies marred August, Indian cinema rose to the occasion, offering a powerful commentary on gender and societal norms. The films not only entertained but provoked thought, empowering women to renegotiate their terms with society, both onscreen and off.
