Feminism and Bollywood (with 'Piku' as a case study)

[SPOILERS ALERT for Piku and Margarita with a Straw.]

 “I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat."

-Rebecca West

Humans in urban 21st century India are not alien to the concept of feminism. We have embraced, at least outwardly, the idea that equality among the genders is something desirable and that patriarchy is a double-edged sword that harms both, or, as better social understanding informs us, all genders. The world is sitting up and taking notice of the idea of feminism, the rights of LGBTQ communities  and the broad spectrum of sexual orientations that humans must be entitled to.  It is cool to be open to these new ideas, especially in youth communities willing to establish and uphold a new set of social standards for a brave new world.

Various art-forms are instrumental in carrying this new-found social responsibility on their shoulders. Gender-sensitized narratives in film, literature and fine arts are cropping up around us and contributing to a gradually increasing stockpile of progressive, forward-minded artworks. Sadat Hasan Manto's seminal 20th century prose comes to mind, among other artists like Mahesh Dattani ('Morning Raga') and Shonali Bose (of 'Margarita with a Straw' fame). 

The Indian Film Industry, or Bollywood, as it is colloquially (and rather scornfully) called, is somewhat a late bloomer. Since the masses of India still find these feminist ideas too extreme, Bollywood in its inherent populism has largely had an inclination towards orthodoxy. It would be unfair to single out movies that adhere to these parochial values, but the majority of films made by Karan Johar, Mahesh Bhatt and even David Dhawan fall under this broad spectrum.

We relegate the lowest kind of physical comedy to the 'gay' character in our movies. Women are merely cardboard characters and/or eye candy in item songs that serve the sole purpose of luring the male audience to fill up cinema halls. Even top-billed actresses like Kareena Kapoor Khan and Priyanka Chopra have to go through the same system of exploitation and blatant sexist baiting.

 Of late. we have had a slew of films that are challenging this notion of our industry. There are movies deliberately breaking sexist norms that have persisted in our cultural narratives since time immemorial. Again, it is tough and unfair to single out a few over others, but I would say that the cinema of filmmakers like Onir, Vishal Bharadwaj, Dibakar Banerjee, Sriram Raghavan and Anurag Kashyap are very feminist in nature. Even though their films do not actively promote the cause of equality, that is not the point of advocacy in art. In my understanding, a perfect form of feminism is where characters are realistic and relatable and not painted unrealistically in a certain way. A film's topic or subject has little to do with their being pro or anti-feminist in nature. 

Let me drive home this point further through an example. I recently saw the film, 'Margarita with a Straw', starring Kalki Koechlin and Revathy in lead roles. It is a Coming-Of-Age Story of a Girl with Cerebral Palsy who sexually explores herself, first with a North-Eastern college mate and then with a Blind Bangladeshi Girl, all the while coping with the imminent death of her Cancer-Stricken Mother. The way I put it, it seems like the filmmaker sat down with a checklist of marginalized groups of people that the mainstream media ignores and then decided to weave her plot around them. Though I agree the treatment is very sensitive and well-meaning, there are times when plot contrivances take precedence over realism. This sort of tokenism is still better than nothing, but I would like to see a more mature and refined version of feminist values to come to the fore of our visual arts; where these messages are not spelled out but already ingrained within the story arc. 

I have decided to study this year's Piku, directed by Shoojit Sircar, in light of the subject of gender sensitized films in Bollywood. Written by Juhi Chaturvedi (who has also penned the brilliant but [or 'and'? who knows] plot-less Vicky Donor), it is the story of a young, Delhi-based woman who has to cope with an overbearing, hypochondriac father who vies for her time and attention. While the father's bowel conditions take center-stage for comedic purposes, the underlying themes of dealing with death, carrying out family duties, holding on to one's roots and acceptance of idiosyncrasies of others are explored with some depth. The concept of humor - and the ability to apply it to oneself - is also a recurring sentiment in the film. 

To furnish you with some examples, let us first talk about about the character of Mr. Bhaskor Banerjee, father of Piku, whose role is essayed near-perfectly by the legendary Amitabh Bachchan. He is an attention-seeking, bitter old man who is constantly finding purpose in life. Ailed by chronic constipation, his displeasure in all common pursuits of life such as marriage, social interaction and any overt display of affection is evident. He wrecks all his daughter's attempts at serious relationships, going so far as to announce to a potential suitor that she is 'not a virgin' and hence, possibly not as desirable. Piku hates his habit of interfering with her life, but reluctantly agrees that she has inherited her father's selfish and grumpy attitude towards life. Whether it is for pissing off a character by alleging he tortured his father to death or washing his hands off all decisions that turn out to be not-so-well foreseen, Bhaskor always projects his mistakes upon others and never owns up. Piku reflects similar obstinacy when her regular cabbie crashes the taxi twice on her instructions of overspeeding. In subtle ways, the writing reveals how the rebellious daughter just cannot help morphing into her father. 

There are two distinct mentions of female emancipation through their forays into what is generally considered patriarchal territory: one, driving; the other, matrimony. In fact, there is one scene where a character blatantly says the line, 'driving liberates a woman'. But in actuality, does driving alone liberate a woman? Most definitely not. Having the choice to drive or not? Yes, that's what truly frees a woman, or any human, from any bondage. 

Which is why Piku simply brushes the questions away, saying that 'she does not like driving that much'. Her nonchalance towards the act of driving as a tool for anything other than utility is the actual display of feminism here. She is so normalized with something still a banned activity for vagina-carriers in some parts of Earth (Saudi Arabia disallows female drivers), that she hires a driver instead of buying a personal car.

The institution of matrimony also becomes a talking point in the film, as Piku's father is insistent that a strong, independent and financially secure woman like her must not get caught up in limitations of marriage. He sees it as a highly detrimental union where the odds are stacked up against the woman in the relationship. Citing the example of his own deceased wife, Bhaskor says that 'marriage without purpose is a low IQ decision'. Piku's own views are radically different; she is growing weary of casual relationships and plans to settle down for good, but for his dominating father. Her sexual life is active and healthy, but she wants more out of her attachments with men. 

While many feminists will frown at matrimony and its patriarchal implications in our society today, Piku has been brought up in a completely opposite atmosphere of openness and freedom. Notions of matrimony bring to her mind visions of stability, strength and union. That marriage can be a strengthening bond - stronger than any casual, sexual engagement - is in itself is a feminist idea. Not to be partial, from what I have seen and experienced of our country's Bengali community, they have been at the forefront of progressive relationships between man and wife, or woman and husband, defining the basics of equality within the household. A common stereotype among my college friends is that of the voluptuous, sexually liberated Bengali woman who 'sleeps around a lot'. While most of these generalizations are harmful and demeaning, I, in my twisted optimism, suggest that there is some sort of goodness to be found here. While not all Bengali women maybe sexually 'outgoing', I think it positively stereotypes them as liberated and in-charge of their sexual lives.

It is interesting how Piku (the film; not the character) tackles these two subjects in the urban landscape and comes out with a refreshing take on a working woman's life in a metropolis. When Bhaskor da collapses after a particularly frolic-filled night, the first words that come out of his lips are, 'take me to Kolkata'. No matter how much he denies it then, I had a feeling he knew right then that his days were numbered and hence, he had the urge to visit his ancestral place before he died. Piku, even though she is unwilling to, decides to accompany him to Champakunj, their sprawling haveli in Old Kolkata. She has plans to sell it off, but is still in two minds about making the decision. On one hand, there is no prudence in holding on to a piece of property that they have no use of, and on the other, holding on to one's roots is also a consideration (as voiced by another character). 

Again, for all of us, the dilemma is very real. What do we do with monetary holdings that hold no practical purpose but keeping one's legacy alive? How does one reason with a parent who refuses to walk out of the past? 

In the end, I liked that even though Bhaskor Da kept proclaiming that they'd never sell off Champakunj ('which even has our mother's name, 'Champa', in it,' he exclaims), it is Piku who finally puts her foot down and everybody takes heed. She is clearly the head of the clan because she is a successful professional, a solid, level-headed earner in the family. The entire family has differing views on what to do with the house but when Piku decides its fate, it is final and non-negotiable. She is the rising matriarch after his father's generation, and it is never spelled out in blatant words; it is merely hinted.

By the end of it, Piku is in full control of her emotions, actions, relationships, money, sex-life and men. She is not bitter or cold but quite warm and grounded. Her love for her 'baba' is no less but she realizes that he is a selfish man. The film ends not with her marriage, but a mere suggestion of her growing closeness to Rana, whom she has befriended over the course of the events in the story.

A special mention must also go to all the actors who lived their characters to perfection. Irrfan, Deepika Padukone and Amitabh Bachchan pull off amazingly believable acts in their respective roles, which enables the writer-director duo to inject real emotions that do not seem overdone or underdeveloped. The story moves forward, at times, only through gestures and a lot is said without a word being spoken. Here is a short exhibition of the range of emotions that only Piku's character displays, and speaks volumes:

Amused

Submissive

Buzzed

Hopeful?

Tempered Sadness

Unbridled grief

Indescribable

Despairing

 
 
 
 
 
 




























If you haven't seen Piku yet, there are two things you should do:
1. Kill yourself for having read this far despite the spoiler alert.
2. Watch it nevertheless. It's not about what happens, but how it happens.

I would have written more about feminism in today's cinema with more verbal abandon, but I will restrict myself to these two case studies for now. Piku for me defines a mature form of feminism that needs to be taken seriously and taken forward in our films today. Breaking the Bechdel Test is one way of ensuring that a film has some form of gender equality in what has today become an extremely skewed entertainment industry. To depict reality as it is is itself the best way forward. Therefore, when a female character is raped by a male character in a movie, that is not an anti-women depiction. When, however, the same woman accepts the man as her true lover, yes, that's when shit goes wrong (ref: Ishaqzaade).

Character actions, unlike plot setting, can be progressive. The need according to me is to write reasonably unrealistic characters in completely realistic scenarios to drive home a message. Anurag Kashyap did it with That Girl in Yellow Boots. Dibakar Banerjee has done it time and again with LSD, Shanghai, Khosla Ka Ghosla and Oye Lucky Lucky Oye. Vishal Bhardwaj did it with 7 Khoon Maaf and Haider. We need more honest narratives that depict the truth of feminism and the feminism in the truth of today.