A guest-post for @genderlogindia, written on Prem Panicker's request, first published here.
Bollywood is usually the go-to guy for bashing. Anything
evil in this country is, by and large, attributed to Bollywood’s zestful
propagation of the same. Smoking – check. Dumbing down – check. Eve teasing –
double check.
The meme goes that Bollywood has made stalking into an art
form and otherwise respectable composers- choreographers-costumers have
participated wholeheartedly to make this activity into a grand and enduring
success.
The ‘stalking song’ is what stars and directors are most
reviled for, but I am inclined to overlook it because it is never an end. If
the villain does it, there is swift dispensation of justice by the hero. If the
hero does it, he either reforms soon after or does something completely
monumental (like strangling his Mafia don father’s pet anaconda to marry the
girl) that underlines his true love.
My logic is simple: If a molester claims that he got his
idea from Akshay Kumar, he should immediately be made to fight thirteen
sword-wielding goons to save a girl. Because that’s what Akshay did – right
after he teased the girl.
However, this is not to say Bollywood can hold its head high
when gender is being discussed. What Bollywood kills us with are the
stereotypes it silently perpetuates through stock characters or situations,
either for convenience or through not wanting to take a risk. This is – in my
opinion – far more damning than a raucous song. Because it is a subtle and,
more critically, ongoing message that certain things are ‘wrong’.
Here is my quick list of six stereotypes Bollywood
perpetrates. (Please feel free to add more. ):
Heroines don’t do regular work. Unless they are
prostitutes or police officers.
Heroines don’t go to offices. (Yes, I know you will jump up
and name five movies where they do but that’s exactly my point – those are
exceptions.) They study. They are nice people, but they don’t ‘do’ anything.
In the two biggest hits of this year – Yeh Jawaani
Hai Deewani and Chennai Express – we are not sure
what the heroine does. In the former, Deepika Padukone is shown preparing to
become a doctor in the flashback but in the present day, she is quite happy
looking gorgeous, and no mention of her medical practice is ever made. Ditto
for Chennai Express.
In the Top 10 grossers in Bollywood history (all of which
are from the last few years), only one heroine – Kareena Kapoor of 3
Idiots – uses her profession to make a contribution to the story. The
rest just dance spectacularly.
And this has been a standard template in Bollywood. For
example, Madhuri Dixit was supposed to be a ‘student of computers’ in Hum
Aapke Hain Koun but she never goes even close to one in the film. In Maine
Pyar Kiya, heroine Bhagyashree had excellent marks in ‘inter’ but she chose
to be deposited in a family friend’s home instead of a working woman’s hostel.
Take the biggest hits (and the not so big ones, as well) and
you will see the same trend. The only working girl I can think of in a major
hit is Sholay’s Basanti. And she abandoned her promising career to
get married.
Working mothers are bad. Actually, mothers are bad
whenever they are not doing the act of ‘mothering’.
Basanti’s abandoned career brings us to the subtle messaging
about mothers who work. In Taare Zameen Par, the working mother
gave up her career to turn her sons into class-toppers. In Akele Hum
Akele Tum, the career-focussed mother (who left her son for a promising
singing career) almost became the vamp till she decided to return to
domesticity.
Whenever a child is shown to be in physical danger (road
accident, kidnapping etc), the mother is usually doing something frivolous (like
shopping) and is meted out some hard-hitting advice (“Tum kaisi maa ho?”)
by a bystander – advice that leads to terrible remorse.
Pre-marital sex is punishable by death or imprisonment
(though, by and large, not both).
If rain, crackling fire, skimpy clothing and sensuous songs
cause you to slip (‘behek jaana’) and taste the forbidden fruit before
marriage, you will die. Because sex is done by bad girls.
Sometimes the man dies (Aradhana), leaving the woman
to a lifetime of struggle (including some jail time).
Sometimes, the woman dies (Trishul), thus getting a
version of ‘capital punishment’.
Even in a totally realistic film like Masoom,
the woman dies leaving her son in the care of her married lover.
In recent times, the moment of passion is dealt a little
less severely — but the non-virgin never gets the hero (Deepika Padukone
in Cocktail, for example).
Only prostitutes initiate sex.
As per Bollywood logic, all sexually aggressive women are
prostitutes (or similar), though all prostitutes are not sexually aggressive
(if she is the heroine).
Traditionally, characters artistes like Helen and Aruna
Irani have performed – with great aplomb – the cabaret that caused the hero to
sway slightly off the straight and narrow path before he progressed on his way
towards the virginal heroine. In recent times, the purpose of the ‘item number’
has been to introduce a guest star who can do the Fevicol-Zandu inspired
gyrations while the heroine can dutifully avert her face when the hero zeroes
in for a kiss.
[NB: The heroes can sow a few wild oats here and there. If
you take the last five films of current heartthrob Ranbir Kapoor, he has been
polygamous in three of them unlike his heroines who, without exception,
were steadfastly monogamous.]
Even in an explicit movie like Murder, it is the
man who initiates the adulterous relationship. The heroine initially turns away
and is about to leave, when there is an excuse for her to come back (she
left her purse behind, you see) and get sucked into the affair. (Maybe an
adulterous relationship is not the right example to make a point about women in
Bollywood not having a say in sexual activity, though).
Women are allowed to kill villains but only with help
from new lover.
There was a time when all of Bollywood was gainfully
employed in remaking the Julia Roberts hit. Sleeping With The Enemy. Agnisakshi, Daraar and Yaraana faithfully
replicated every detail from the original and differed from their source code
on only one major front – the hero rushed in to kill the obsessive husband.
While the fragile Julia Roberts pulled the trigger herself in Hollywood, a
chubby Rishi Kapoor (whose heroines were much fitter than him) and a hungover
Jackie Shroff ambled into the last scene to perform the heroic honors in
Bollywood.
At one point of time, when Rekha was acting in a series of
films as a female vigilante, it was always the hero who rushed in to assist her
in the climax. The most famous example is probably Khoon Bhari Maang where
she was doing a mean job of chopping Kabir Bedi up till Shatrughan Sinha was
made to intervene.
In a love triangle, only the men get to chose the
‘winner’.
A Bollywood woman is, at the risk of over-simplification,
property. She doesn’t really have a say in matters of the heart.
From Sangam to Saajan,
from Dostana to Dobara OUATIM, the woman is just a
method of sacrificing for the sake of a friend (or proving one’s masculinity
for the sake of the world).
The friends decide – depending on who saw the girl first,
whose relative debts are higher, whose box office clout is bigger – who gets
the girl. This often leads to death or the honorable exit of one participant
while the surviving one, usually the docile girl, goes with the guy. Simple,
no?
And when you see a rather cavalier tyaag by
Ranbir Kapoor in favor of his elder brother in Raajneeti, you
realize this is a tradition as old as the Mahabharat itself!
Often one wonders about the wasted charisma of Bollywood’s
leading ladies, and if the system will ever change to portray them as true role
models. Right now, there are lakhs of young girls copying Priyanka Chopra’s
tattoo. What impact she would make if she is shown actually working hard to
become – say – a boxer!
A Mary Kom biopic – starring Priyanka Chopra – is currently
in production. So yes, there is hope.
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