Gender and Hindi Cinema: Part One
“Akeli ladki khuli tijori ki tarah hoti hai” (An alone girl is an open vault) — Jab We Met (2003)
“Mard ko dard nahi hota” (A man doesn’t feel pain) — Mard (1985)
“Aurat maa hoti hai, bahen hoti hai, patni hoti hai, dost hoti hai … aur jab who kuch nahi hoti, toh tawaif hoti hai” (A woman is a mother, a sister, a wife and a friend…and when she is not any of these, she is a prostitute) — Devdas (2002)
“Mard ke bachche aurat ke daaman se nahi … sher ke panjo se khela karte hai” (Children of real men do not play with the moral of woman but with the paws of a tiger) — Kalicharan (1976)
Numerous are the ways in which gender roles are defined in the realm of Hindi cinema: from an alone woman being equated to an open safe, signifying that any man can take undue advantage of her to when a woman is neither a mother nor a sister nor a wife nor a friend to anyone, she automatically becomes a courtesan or prostitute. These varied roles described in the above dialogues underscore the way women are represented in Hindi cinema. Similarly, men are also defined in a particular way which underscore their sense of masculinity. These are just some of the many subtle ways in which Hindi cinema portray gender along the lines of the societal archetypes of gender identities.
Scholars have accorded Hindi cinema, or popularly known as Bollywood, a prime place in generating knowledge about Indian culture (Vasudevan, 2000; Virdi, 2003; Murty, 2012). It is the dominant cultural institution in India and the gender roles that the cinematic imagination prescribes give us a sense of the overall sensibilities of our society. On one hand, the cinematic image proves to be a mirror of the society, reflecting the codes and characteristics of prevailing gender roles, and on the other, it anticipates social change either by subverting the prescribed gender roles or by providing an emancipatory framework for both men and women.
This series of articles will deal with the representation of gender in Hindi cinema. I will look at how academic scholarship has approached the question of gender with respect to Hindi cinema. I will deploy a chronological approach in order see the journey of gender roles in Hindi cinema and how scholarship has engaged with it. From the early Colonial cinema to the modern Bollywood cinema, the attempts to trace the story of gender roles and to map shifts in these portrayals as highlighted by academic scholarship. The first in the series will focus on gender roles in pre-colonial Hindi cinema.
Cinema in the Time of Nationalism
When the British came to India, they brought with them Victorian ideals, customs, and morality. The colonial encounter with the traditional patriarchy led to the discourse of a new woman (Chakravarty, 1989). The nationalist elite, perturbed by the white man’s justification of rule on the grounds of brining social reform, demarcated the lines of colonial control, which Partha Chatterjee (1989) famously called the ‘Inner/Outer’ dichotomy, where the inner sphere was the realm of the private — which the colonial rule had no right to interfere with; it was the realm of the woman and following the traditions, rituals was her duty; whereas the outer was the realm of material life where men would venture and learn from the colonisers. While the outer realm represented the constant risk of corruption; the inner realm was supposed to compensate for any transgressions men undertook as women were bestowed the responsibilities ensuring the honour — of family, community and the nation.
The period was also soaked in, what I would call, the first instance of nationalism in India. The national struggle embodied this instance, as the primary objective was to attain freedom from colonial power. In these nationalist times, the first Indian film Raja Harishchandra (1913), was screened to an enthralled audience. It was the start of a cultural practice that would soon engulf the entire cultural sphere.
However, some problems emerged with the advent of cinema: the content of these films; and how these images were being interpreted by the local populace. Madhav Prasad (2013), while tracing these anxieties, argued that when the Indian Cinematograph Committee (1927–1928), which comprised of both British and Indian members, tabled its report, the focus was on the culturally backward spectator. The members agreed that the Indian audience, especially the uneducated ones, were not ready for certain images to be shown through this medium. This consensus, irrespective of their differences, underline the anxieties within the elites of the Indian society towards the power of the moving images and the influence it can have on the masses.
Most of the films that were made initially during this period were mythological films. It was later, when the talkies emerged, that the focus shifted. As Raghavendra (2016) has argued, it was during the 1930s and 1940s, a genre of social reformist cinema emerged. Interestingly, most of these films had strong female characters (Diler Jigar, 1931; Hunterwali, 1935; Acchut Kanya, 1936; Chandidas 1934) and weaker male characters.
These depictions fit right into the prevailing discourse of strong women and weak men mentioned earlier where the woman remained strong as she was not corrupted by the ‘outer’ realm; hence she was the one who had to undertake social reforms. For example, in the film Samaj Ki Bhool (1934), the story revolves around a widow and her right to remarry. On the other hand, films like Devdas (1935) had weak men who were dominated by the father.
In a similar vein, Sujata Moorti (2013) has argued that not only did earlier Hindi cinema have strong female characters but it, “offered more tantalising possibilities for the articulation of female subjectivity” (p.15). By focusing on the careers of Devika Rani and Nadia, she argues that both actresses were revolutionary. Nadia’s iconic role in Hunterwali (1935) is an anomaly to the docile repressed female, and some of the images from her films — be it brandishing weapons, playing with lions, or even sometimes lifting men over her head are ripe with subversive potential. Butalia (1984) however contends that films like Gunsundari (1927) portrayed the female as the dutiful wife. The film even, she argues, gives guidelines on how a dutiful wife should act in order to secure her husband’s happiness. The portrayal of the ideal wife resonates with the idea of new woman.
The discourses around the new woman certainly did influence the representation of women in colonial cinema. But the same cannot be said for the men, as apart from Raghavendra’s analysis there is not much literature to back the framework of the inner-outer, as it does not necessarily mean that stronger women in these films equate to weaker men, and both can be strong together. But what does seem to come out from this scholarship is that while women had to remain strong and handle the baggage of tradition — child marriage, widow remarriage etc, the men had to traverse the path of modernity which often entailed negotiating with their identities. This negotiation is further explored in the films that came after Independence, which I’ll explore in the next article.
