It has been an agonizing August for Indian women, marked by a harrowing series of real-life injustices. The month began with a tragic incident in Kolkata, where a young medical student was brutally murdered. Her death sparked a nationwide outcry encapsulated in the poignant motto, “beti padhi par bachi nahin” (the daughter studied but could not survive). This devastating event underscored the vulnerability of educated women in a society that continues to grapple with gender violence.
As if this tragedy was not enough, a prominent female wrestler faced casual fat-shaming from a woman Member of Parliament, who ironically hailed from the entertainment industry. The MP’s comments were aimed at the wrestler’s failure to make her weight category by a mere 100 grams. This commentary added another layer to the ongoing discourse around women’s bodies and societal expectations.
Amidst these grim realities, the month did bring a slice of justice and hope for women, albeit on the silver screen. A stirring Malayalam drama, *Aattam* (The Play), directed by Anand Ekarshi, claimed a significant spot at the National Awards. The film portrays the treacherous landscape that even ostensibly progressive spaces, like theatre and cinema, can become for women who dare to speak out about bodily violations. The narrative dismantles the facade of gender sensitivity practiced by men only when it aligns with their self-interests.
This prestigious accolade for *Aattam* came just days before the much-anticipated release of the Justice Hema Committee report by the Kerala government. Submitted four-and-a-half years ago, the report casts a harsh light on the Malayalam film industry, revealing rampant harassment and discrimination against women by a powerful nexus of male producers, directors, and actors. Though the report’s release was long overdue, it marks a pioneering effort by an Indian government to formally investigate the challenges faced by women in the film industry. The findings have relevance far beyond Kerala, resonating with gender discrimination and casting couch issues that Bollywood actresses have also bravely spoken about, though often in whispers that barely disturb the status quo.
Interestingly, the public examination of the Hema Committee report coincided with the rising popularity of Christo Tomy’s *Ullozhukku* (Undercurrent) on a streaming platform and its commendations at the Kerala State Awards. *Ullozhukku* is set in a flood-ravaged village and uses the inundation as a metaphor for emotional turmoil. This poignant tale of love and companionship explores the complex dynamics between women within a mainstream narrative.
. Featuring stellar performances by Urvashi and Parvathy, the film delves into the relationships between a mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law after the death of the man who connected them. It addresses who controls a woman’s body before and after marriage, unveiling deeply entrenched patriarchal attitudes within Kerala’s Christian community.
Continuing the thematic exploration of women’s relationships, Kiran Rao’s *Laapataa Ladies* was recently shown to Supreme Court judges. Much like *Ullozhukku*, this film examines rigid societal norms for women but does so with a lighter, more humorous touch. By peeling away the layers of an unjust society, Rao reveals the invisibility and marginalization of women caused by enduring patriarchy. The film portrays two contrasting characters: Jaya, a resolute woman who escapes the traditions imprisoning her, and Phool, a naive girl trapped in a patriarchal structure, symbolized by her hiding behind a dustbin labeled “use me”.
The dustbin also assumes a symbolic role in Nithilan Swaminathan’s *Maharaja*, where a father uses it as a metaphor in a police station while searching for his missing daughter. The film portrays how the bureaucracy can be as traumatic as the crime itself, requiring victims to bribe officers to take action. Though the genres of *Laapataa Ladies* and *Maharaja* differ, both critique the systemic failures that women endure, emphasizing that the pursuit of justice often entails further victimization.
These narratives, heavy with the portrayal of gender violence, find a silver lining in their depiction of women refusing to be psychologically scarred or hindered in their ambitions. This powerful sentiment also surfaces in Nikkhil Advani’s *Vedaa*, where a Dalit girl defies societal constraints imposed by caste and morality’s self-appointed guardians.
While many films feature male saviors, the inherent bravery and resilience of these female characters stand out, providing a refreshing departure from cosmetic portrayals of women’s strength.
In stark contrast to these realistic monsters in human clothing, Amar Kaushik’s sharp satire, *Stree 2*, tackles the menace of demons resurrecting to perpetuate patriarchy, feeding on progressive women. The film parodies societal norms, with a standout moment where Pankaj Tripathi’s character, in pure Hindi, asserts that the length of a woman’s braid is irrelevant – challenging outdated views on femininity and agency.
The film’s references harken back to a 1997 remark by a socialist leader criticizing “parkati mahilayen” (short-haired women) in the context of the Women’s Reservation Bill. This echo serves as a stark reminder of how far we’ve come and the distance yet to be covered in the battle against gender biases.
In conclusion, while August tested the resilience of Indian women through real-life traumas, it also celebrated their grit and determination in the cinematic universe. Each story, whether on-screen or off, contributes to a broader narrative of resistance, highlighting both the persisting challenges and the indomitable spirit of women in India.
