Dilwale and Subverting Patriarchy

In Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, we are introduced to Simran, a Non Resident Indian woman growing up in London. Baldev Singh, Simran’s father, has arranged for his daughter to be married to the son of a family friend in India, Kuljit. Simran is initially unperturbed by the notion of her arranged marriage, but during a vacation in Europe she unwittingly falls in love with Raj, a spoiled but affable fellow NRI from London. The rest of the film concerns Raj and Simran’s machinations to legitimize and cement their relationship despite Baldev’s reservations. According to Purnima Mankekar, Dilwale affirms the Indian male’s agency by casting him in the figure of the NRI investor and the custodian of the Indian woman’s sexual purity – the quintessential trope of Indian identity – thus replaying the classic woman/nation conflation. (Virdi) I prefer to read Dilwale as a film that addresses how modern Indian identities and values both operate in and subvert traditionally patriarchal family structures, while also serving as a commentary on the Indian diaspora and its connection with Indian culture.

When we are first introduced to Simran she is portrayed as a young, independent Indian woman. The first shot Simran is a close up of her face instantly connects the audience with her eyes, and establishes the theme of perception through the female gaze. Unlike female characters in earlier Hindi films, women in Diwale can be simultaneously promiscuous and virtuous, and Simran, who is pictured as a wild heroine with wind blowing through her hair embodies that duality. Simran wears Western clothes rather than traditional Indian female attire like her mother, and enjoys Western music. In the opening song of the movie, Simran dances around her bedroom covered only in a towel; the dance weaves both modern and traditional elements that serve as a foil for Simran’s identity. Although she is amenable to her arranged marriage she still writes love poetry in which she describes encounters with strange men whose faces she’s never met. Her sexual fantasies propel her into her eventual love affair with Raj, ……

Simran is as much a product of Western values and she is Indian virtue, and she negotiates this duality through the exploration of her sexuality and subversion of patriarchal norms. Simran and younger sister dance to popular music, but as soon as Baldev comes home the music is switched to traditional music and they sit demurely on couches. While this act of male appeasement reinforces patriarchy, it also exposes Baldev’s frail grasp on his Hindi heritage and bay extension his traditional authority. Later, in order to convince her father to let her go on a holiday to the European continent with her friends, Simran ensures that her father sees her praying early in the morning at the family shrine. She sits bathed in a glowing aura of light, and appears similar to a Hindu deity. This ruse convinces her father to allow her to go on vacation with her friends, and is another example of how perceived virtuousness clashes with modern identity.

In her relationship with Raj, Simran repeatedly subverts traditional romantic tropes of Hindi cinema. The theme of perception reappears in the train scene where Raj and Simran recount their initial meeting to their respective friends. While Raj disingenuously casts himself as a suave Don Juan who effectively wooed Simran, Simran’s account subverts his narrative through satirizes patronizing flirtations. Later when Simran and Raj are forced to share a room in Switzerland, her honor (izzat) won’t allow her to sleep in the same room with another man, and she is seemingly offended when Raj drinks alcohol in front of her, asking, “are you not ashamed to drink in front of a lady?” Her seeming primness vanishes when she accidently gets drunk, and her inhibitions melt away as she and Raj engage in a series of drunken escapades across the Swiss countryside. In a subversion of the Hindi film archetype, Simran’s are not interpreted as virtuous, but rather as a product of the intersection of modern Indian identity and traditional values. Alcohol allows Simran to search out and pursue her hidden feelings for Raj, and later when she learns that her honor is intact she is justified in having feelings for Raj knowing that he is an honorable man who wouldn’t take advantage of her.

In a twist upon traditional family roles, Simran and her mother, Lajjo, act more like friends than mother and daughter. They sit on opposite beds while Simran reads her love poetry to her mother, and Simran repeatedly confides in her mother concerning the details of her and Raj’s love affair. This subversion of the traditional mother and daughter family dynamic sets up Lajjo and Simran as conspirator’s against patriarchal norms, as Lajjo becomes and accomplice to Simran and Raj’s schemes. In one scene right after Simran has been brought to India to marry Kuljit, Lajjo tells Simran that women sacrifice their happiness; they give up education, love, and independence, while men are forced to give up nothing. Her insistence that women and men are not equal subverts the long running theme in Hindi film of elevating women as symbols of Indian sovereignty. Although she proceeds to beg Simran to forget Raj to preserve family harmony these comments have been interpreted as a critique of womens’ lack of agency in patriarchal system that denies them a voice, which serves as a form of sub textual subversion. Later when Lajjo encourages Simran and Raj to elope she effectively gives her blessing for the couple to subvert traditional patriarchal norms and pursue a modern romance. Her blessing uses the trope of family permission and marriage to subvert Baldev’s designs for Simran’s romantic future, and further establishes the notion that the film is a critique on women’s roles in a time of increasing fluid boundaries of what it means to be a modern Indian woman.

Simran and Raj’s insistence on seeking parental approval for their relationship has been read as a form of adherence to the patriarchal order of Indian culture. “More importantly, as ‘formula’ romances set in an Indian culture of kinship, the romantic happy ending in … DDLJ… requires the reconciliation of parental and individual desire.” (Uberoi) Rather than elope as Lajjo suggests the couple stubbornly try to win Baldev over to their side without avail. Simran’s acceptance by Raj’s father and eventual release by her own father has been seen as an example of female sexual desire commuting to patrilocal authority, yet I read the text as much more complex. Simran’s subversions throughout the film speak to a broken system that has little to no meaning for NRI and intergenerational Indian youth, while also grappling with the injustice of traditional roles for women.

The Veil and Obstacles in Bombay

In Bombay, Sekhar Naranyan travels to his home village to visit his family. As he arrives he encounters the beautiful Shaila Banu, a Muslim woman, and he instantly falls madly in love with her. Sekhar and Shaila begin a whirlwind love affair that drives them from the homes of their deeply religious parents to the modern city of Bombay. Sekhar and Shaila marry, and begin a new life together as husband and wife. The young couple give birth to two twin boys, Kabir and Kamal, and enjoy a few happy years together as a family before the country becomes embroil in religious violence spurned by the destruction of the Babri Masjid mosque in Ayodhya. In the end, the family learns that differences drive people apart, and fear of the other can internalize into outward aggression, while they walk a fine line as dual citizens of both Hindu and Muslim culture. 

            Veils are recurring motif in the film. When Sekhar first meets Shaila, her veil lifts up in a gust of wind, and her face is revealed. This invites the viewer to see the scene through the male gaze; we see Shaila as a woman, and her sexual nature is laid bare for Sekhar to pursue her as the object of his desire. When Sekhar stumbles upon Shaila in the village marketplace, she is dressed in a white sari without a veil. She is exposed to his gaze, and she avoids meeting his eyes. Without her veil she has lost the modesty and protection of her religion, yet throughout the ensuing dance sequence, the audience watches as her eyes begin to glance in his direction, and eventually linger upon him; in one moment, she forgets her dance moves, and for the first time we see her recognize him as a man, as a sexual mate. Later, when Sekhar is pursing Shaila and her friend, Shaila fools Sekhar into thinking her friend is she, but as she is leaving she lifts her veil and deliberately shows him her face. This foreshadows Shaila’s eventual revocation of her family’s religious values; she chooses Sekhar over the religion of her house, shunning the rituals of Islam for romantic love. Although veils recur throughout the entirety of the film, such as when a stray breeze blows a veil in front of Shaila’s face, the veil is seen more as a ripple f the past, an old reminder of the patriarchal shroud that Shaila has cast off in order to be with Sekhar.

            Bombay is an Indian Romeo and Juliet story; two tragic lovers who come from different families must battle to be together. Physical obstacles frequently conspire to drive Sekhar and Shaila apart, and the two have to find creative solutions to overcome. When Sekhar and Shaila conspire to meet in secret together for the first time, Sekhar bids her to come to the old fort by the edge of the sea. The fort is a symbol of authority, of rule and law, but it is overgrown with vegetation, signifying that the old order has been destroyed, and modern India now rules. Shaila then runs past an old anchor, which can be construed as a symbol of the weight of her subordination to patriarchy, but in the next moment her veil blows away, hinting that she has cast of the yoke of her subservience.

            As Sekhar and Shaila are waiting to be married at the courthouse, Shaila avoids contact with Sekhar for fear that people will see their public displays of affections. At this point, they are still afraid to be themselves around each other, especially Shaila. Once they are married, their relationship is legitimized in the eyes of the law, and although they haven’t reconciled their religious obstacles with their family, they at least are no longer afraid to be seen with each other. But even after Sekhar and Shaila are married they still face obstacles, for they are forced to watch over their landlords children and nieces and nephews during their honeymoon. The kids are a rampaging horde that can’t be controlled, and although they don’t care whether Sekhar and Shaila or Hindu or Muslim their presence dampens the newlyweds romantic coupling. In one of the most iconic scenes of the film, the children form a barrier on the floor between the resting forms of Sekhar and Shaila. The children play a game of telephone between Sekhar and Shaila, silently whispering messages between each other. When Sekhar says he loves Shaila the children shout out his message and the game is broken, symbolizing that love cannot be stifled if it is true and pure.

            Despite their different religions and upbringings, religion cannot keep Sekhar and Shaila apart. To them, religion is more liquid than solid, and the two frequently morph between the two; Sekhar even offers to change religions for Shaila, but she says there’s no need. Sekhar is pictured wearing a Muslim Taqiyah, and Shaila plays with wearing a bindi. Throughout the film, barriers rise up to separate the couple from physical threats from rioters to emotional appeals from their parents, yet nothing can separate them from each other. Through thick and thin they draw strength from their love for each other, and persevere in the face of any and all odds to prove that they are Indians before they are Hindu or Muslim, man or woman.

Gender Identity in Mr. India

In Mr. India by Shekhar Kapur we follow the story of Arun, an orphaned violinist who runs an orphanage for children in Bombay. Together with the strong-willed reporter and love interest, Seema, and the orphanage nanny/cook, Calendar, Arun unravels the diabolic plot of the foreign megalomaniac Mogambo. The film – which features a number of progressive roles and scenes unique to Hindi cinema – is a landscape of myriad gender identities, and the politics of gender normativity and interrogation are demonstrated in the portrayal of the film’s heroes and villains.

During the film themes of cross-dressing and masquerade serve to challenge the audience to reconceive notions of masculine and feminine identities in modern India. At the start of the film, Arun is pictured completing traditionally feminine roles; he cooks for the children of the orphanage, gets them ready for school, plays music for them, and acts motherly to many of the youngest children. It is only later, when Arun discovers the invisibility watch invented by his father that he becomes the heroic Mr. India and begins to take on a more masculine persona. By acting out more feminine roles, Arun positions himself as a liberated Indian male not bound by traditional notions of femininity or masculinity. When Arun eventually becomes Mr. India his earned power of invisibility acts to further complicate the masquerade. As Mr. India, Arun is no longer a person, but an idea, the common Indian man fighting against foreign intervention.

According to Chakavarty, “Woman… unlike man, cannot change herself at will, cannot adopt and discard identities to signify a wider social embrace. On the other hand, it is her fixity that allows the hero to narcissistically (dis)play his body.” (Chakravarty, 1993) However, the character of Seema in Mr. India demonstrates that women in modern Hindi cinema are just as capable as men to change their identity and act out their transformation. Throughout the film, Seema masquerades as different people in order to infiltrate Mogambo’s evil organization; she poses as a French entertainer to infiltrate one of Mogambo’s many night clubs, and later cross-dresses as a Charlie Chaplinesque-looking man in order to enter a gambling hall. The latter example of cross dressing casts Seema as an androgynous, transsexual character who can appeal to both male and female audiences. Furthermore, Seema’s character is – at times – more masculine than Arun. Seema dislikes children and devotes her life to her career, traits which are antithetical to traditional female roles in Hindi cinema, and while she eventually has a change of heart and falls in love with the Arun’s orphans, her role is never confused with that of a mother, like Arun.

Of the characters in the film Mogambo is the most traditionally masculine portrayal. From his chiseled features and deep voice to his smart military uniform and violent nature, Mogambo embodies the archetypal male form. Mogambo is often pictured carrying a cane, an obvious phallic symbol His Aryan features and accent position him squarely as an “other,” an outside threat to Indian independence. “A notable feature of the male-dominated romantic drama of the post-sixties era is that while the identity of the villain is fixed and self-evident, the proof of the hero’s heroism is that he can change identities at will, if only temporarily and playfully.” (Chakravarty, 1993) Arun has both masculine and feminine attributes. He acts as the avenger, standing up for the rights of the orphans and other common Indians. At the same time, he also takes care of the children of the orphanage by cooking and cleaning for them, and by playing music. As a super villain, Mogambo can never be anything but a villain, and unlike some of the villainous portrayals in earlier Hindi cinema, his storyline can never be anything but evil and tragic.

I couldn’t help thinking that Seema is the more courageous hero character compared to Arun, because she puts her identity at stake. Arun is able to masquerade as Mr. India without revealing his identity, thereby preserving himself and the people he cares about. Seema on the other hand puts her life on the line to uncover Mogambo’s villainous ventures, and therefore opens herself up to retribution from his goons. In every way except the most obvious power differential Seema embodies more masculine, transsexual qualities than Arun, whose identity shifts from feminine to masculine throughout the film. The gender politics of Mr. India demonstrate that it is not just men that have the capacity to shift gender identities, and also highlight the changes in the gender dynamic in modern India.