It has been an agonizing August for Indian women. A medical student has been brutally silenced in Kolkata, leading to a public outcry encapsulated by the phrase “beti padhi par bachi nahin” (the daughter studied but could not survive). Adding to the distress, a champion wrestler was casually fat-shamed by a woman Member of Parliament from the film industry for missing her weight category by a mere 100 grams.
Despite these disheartening events, the month has offered some solace in the realm of cinema, where women who stand up against injustice have found new, empowering narratives. This sense of resilience is epitomized by the Malayalam drama “Aattam” (The Play), which made it to the podium at the National Awards. Directed by debutant Anand Ekarshi, the film showcases how even seemingly safe and friendly spaces can turn perilous for women who dare to speak out about the violation of their bodies. Set within the ostensibly progressive spheres of theatre and cinema, “Aattam” strips away the veneer of gender sensitivity practiced by men only when it suits their interests.
The film’s triumph came just days before the Kerala government finally released the long-awaited Justice Hema Committee report, four-and-a-half years after its submission. This landmark document lays bare the rampant harassment and discrimination faced by women in Mollywood, driven by a powerful male lobby of producers, directors, and actors. While the Kerala government took an unprecedented amount of time to make the report public, its release marks the first instance of a governmental panel being formed in India to seriously examine the issues faced by women in the film industry. The findings resonate deeply across the nation, echoing the experiences shared by Bollywood actors about gender discrimination and the infamous casting couch. Yet, such complaints often get swept under the rug.
Interestingly, the report came under public scrutiny while Christo Tomy’s “Ullozhukku” (Undercurrent) was garnering attention on streaming platforms and at the Kerala State Awards. Set in an inundated village where floodwaters serve as a metaphor for emotional turmoil, the film explores unconventional notions of love and companionship. Featuring powerhouse performances by Urvashi and Parvathy, “Ullozhukku” delves into the nuanced relationships between a mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law after the death of their connecting link to cancer. Director Tomy treats the complex dynamics with remarkable sensitivity, raising pertinent questions about who controls a woman’s body before and after marriage. The film also touches upon the Christian community in Kerala, revealing that it is not immune to sectarianism and patriarchy.
.
Elevating the discourse on female bonds further, Kiran Rao’s “Laapataa Ladies” was screened for Supreme Court judges. Like “Ullozhukku,” this film examines the rigid, homespun rules that society enforces upon women, but does so with a lighter touch. Through peeling away layers of ingrained patriarchy, Kiran lifts the veil on the often-invisible struggles of women. The protagonist Jaya finds a way to escape her oppressive environment, symbolized by her slipping through the iron curtain of tradition like a blade of grass from a crack in the rock. Conversely, the naive Phool, married into a patriarchal system under the guise of culture, hides behind a huge dustbin emblazoned with the words “use me” after being left behind on a railway platform.
The motif of the dustbin also appears in Nithilan Swaminathan’s “Maharaja,” where a father uses it as a poignant metaphor in a police station to describe his missing daughter. The film employs this narrative device to expose the bureaucratic monstrosity that failed his daughter. Both “Laapataa Ladies” and “Maharaja” suggest that navigating police procedures can be more harrowing than the crime itself, as evidenced by the protagonists having to bribe officers to initiate any action.
The depiction of violence in cinema can elicit different opinions, yet the unyielding spirit of the female protagonists, refusing to be psychologically scarred or deterred from their ambitions, resonates strongly. This sentiment of resilience is mirrored in Nikkhil Advani’s “Vedaa,” where a Dalit girl defies the self-appointed guardians of caste and morality.
In both “Vedaa” and “Maharaja,” the existence of male saviors does not overshadow the intrinsic courage of the female leads, making their portrayals feel genuine and impactful. Contrasting sharply with these narratives is Amar Kaushik’s sharp satire “Stree 2,” which depicts demons arising from the dead to enforce patriarchy by preying on women who dare to be progressive in their education, relationships, and even hairstyles.
In a memorable moment, Pankaj Tripathi’s character, speaking polished Hindi, asserts that the length of a woman’s braid is irrelevant, as even short-haired women can thwart a headless male chauvinist. This brings to mind a late socialist leader’s derogatory remark about short-haired women in the context of the Women’s Reservation Bill back in 1997.
Indian cinema continues to reflect and transform societal perspectives, especially regarding the portrayal of women. As these films demonstrate, the battle against patriarchy and gender discrimination is far from over, but the resilience and courage of women stand as a beacon of hope for a more just and equitable future.
