Why I Found My Poetic Home In Marathi Cinema
Films speak a lot louder than words when it comes to Marathi cinema. I first watched Marathi movies with my parents in the good ol’ fashion theatre. The genres were wide and all over the place: there was comedy, innocence, hints of psychology, societal values and drama all packed into one story. Funny enough, the movies reflected what Maharashtrian households couldn’t. The amount of eerie silence at home directly reflected the intensity of stories on screen.
Most of the movies which shaped my view towards “Marathi Cinema” were taken lightly. All viewers once out of the movie hall and onto the streets reduced the film down to a “good one”. These included De Dhakka, Balak Palak, Shikshanachya Aaicha Gho, Jogwa, Natsamrat, Natrang, Fandry and the like. I will positively affirm that these movies more or less changed me for who I am. The touch of sensitivity, the balls to showcase what elite Maharashtrian households would not talk about, the showcase of culture in a beauteous light as well as a horrid one really made me wonder: why is no one talking about this?
For me, growing up in a Marathi family involved a lot of silence. There was and still is a lot of “understood by all’’ attitude going in rounds. There was no sex education, no boy talk and no academic pressure (discipline was an unsaid rule). My mother had tightened up my principles and built a strong superego, so much so that I would act virtuous and noble out of habit than need. There was no talk of culture; there were unsaid norms to all festivities which if not followed resulted in the most terrifying glares. What was liked was never appreciated but the collective feeling of “Abhimaan” was strongly rooted in everyone’s mind. When it came to things disliked, if you did something that your family members shunned on, it went without saying that you were “trying so hard to not be a part of the family”.
I saw this being reflected onto movies. When you watch a Marathi movie, there is a strong layer of suffocation added to every story. Whether it’s because there is a dominant player over a submissive group of people; or when your views don’t align to others on even the smallest of issues or when you want to strongly call out your own culture and society but can’t, because you’ve been raised by the same cult, it all came out in the most beautiful, eye gripping stories on screen. Movies suddenly became this welcoming breath of fresh air for me, and I saw them doing rounds and getting acclaimed within the industry as well as families which meant only one thing: they were spitting out the truth.
Marathi cinema upheld the culture while laying ground facts of what needed to change.
Watching those films, even if they were based on simple, everyday stories welled me up with satisfaction. There was an ongoing catharsis to each scene, to dialogues and to the story’s environment. It felt as though the story tellers were enticing you to get out of your shell and do what you really like while giving a strong, much needed refusal to your upbringing. All this while celebrating the same backdrop of the traditions and habits which built the firm environment.
These films also tackled an aspect that very few directors had the grit to try: the concept of sexuality. Whether it was Jogwa, which showed forced emasculation of a guy whose destiny was on the village’s approval or Natrang, where an innately masculine man took up the role of an effeminate dancer while retaining his identity (only for the love of his art). There is no hesitation, no going back to comfortable stratums, no ifs and buts or what “people will think”.
This golden rule was applied to all issues, whether it was the failing education system in Shikshanacha Aai Cha Go or lack of sex education shown in Balak Palak or life commitments to your own art in Natrang or upholding your family even when it was going to lead to imminent failure in De Dhakka.
Marathi story tellers know how to tackle uncomfortable storylines because when it comes to our daily lives, we never touch upon them. The issues at home were slid slyly to the side, only for strong characters in the films to cheer them on and perform on them in the most brutal way.
A good film recites the shortcomings of society: it fills in gaps which takes years for the community to come to, and Marathi cinema aces the things left unsaid. They’ve gone leaps ahead in their search for answers which were never present at home.
When I watched Natrang for the first time, I came to terms with my own protectiveness towards my dreams. The film’s underlying tone was of pure assurance, that it’s okay to lose yourself while you pursue what you truly love- even if it comes at the cost of detaching yourself for society.
The poetic device of finding new homes in films is realised when that film brings something to the table you didn’t have the guts to, and Marathi films do just that, one film at a time.
