It has been an agonising August for Indian women. A medical student has been brutally silenced in Kolkata, leading to a nationwide outcry encapsulated in the poignant phrase: *Beti padhi par bachi nahin* (the daughter studied but could not survive). In another incident, a champion wrestler was casually fat-shamed by a film industry woman MP for missing her weight category by merely 100 grams. Amidst these societal upheavals, the silver screen has provided some solace and empowerment, portraying women who bravely stand up against injustice.
This month, the theme of women renegotiating their place in society was vividly illustrated when *Aattam* (The Play) clinched a podium finish at the National Awards. This captivating Malayalam drama by debutant Anand Ekarshi reveals how even supposedly safe and friendly spaces can turn hostile for women who dare to speak out against the violation of their bodies. Set in the progressive realms of theatre and cinema, the film peels back the layers of men who practice gender sensitivity only when it serves their interests.
The significance of this cinematic achievement was amplified just days before the Kerala government released the long-awaited Justice Hema Committee report. The report, submitted four-and-a-half-years ago, sheds light on the rampant harassment and discrimination women endure in the Malayalam film industry, inflicted by a powerful lobby of male producers, directors, and actors. Although the Kerala government’s delay in making the report public is regrettable, the creation of this panel marks the first time an Indian government has taken significant steps to study the challenges faced by women in the film industry. The findings from this report resonate across India, where Bollywood actors have long spoken out about gender discrimination and the pernicious casting couch, issues that are often swept under the rug.
Ironically, the public’s attention to this report coincided with the acclaim of Christo Tomy’s *Ullozhukku* (Undercurrent). This film, making waves on a streaming platform and at the Kerala State Awards, is set in a flood-ravaged village where the rising waters symbolize an emotional deluge. This tender narrative explores the conventions of morality and guilt imposed on women, juxtaposed with the story of a dead body hidden by the waters. Featuring exceptional performances by Urvashi and Parvathy, *Ullozhukku* offers a rare portrayal of women’s relationships in mainstream cinema. Director Tomy explores the intricate bond between a mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law, post the connecting link in their lives succumbing to cancer, with remarkable sensitivity. His narrative challenges the control over a woman’s body before and after marriage, while also highlighting that even the Christian community in Kerala is not immune to sectarianism and patriarchy.
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Building on the conversation about women’s connections on screen, Kiran Rao’s *Laapataa Ladies* was recently screened for Supreme Court judges. Like *Ullozhukku*, this film examines the rigid societal norms imposed on women, albeit with a touch of humor. By peeling back the layers of an unjust society, Kiran addresses the invisibility of women entrenched in patriarchy. In the film, a determined Jaya finds a way through her suffocating environment, symbolized by her escape through a small opening in an iron curtain, akin to a sheaf of grass emerging from a rock crevice. In contrast, the naive Phool, married into a patriarchal structure under the guise of tradition, hides behind a dustbin labeled ‘use me’ when left behind on a railway platform.
The motif of the dustbin reappears in Nithilan Swaminathan’s *Maharaja*. Here, a father employs it as a metaphor in a police station to describe his missing daughter. This narrative device articulates the struggle to unmask the monsters who devastated his only hope. Although distinct in genre and treatment, both *Laapataa Ladies* and *Maharaja* suggest that visiting a police station can be more distressing than being robbed. In both films, the protagonists have to bribe the police officers to kick-start the investigation.
The depiction of violence in films may elicit divergent opinions, but the strength of the female protagonists who refuse to be mentally scarred or deterred from pursuing their ambitions leaves a lasting impression. This sentiment is echoed in Nikkhil Advani’s *Vedaa*, where a Dalit girl defies the self-appointed guardians of caste and morality to follow her path. Both these films, despite featuring male saviors, highlight the genuine courage of the female characters, which doesn’t appear ornamental.
In stark contrast to these realistic narratives, Amar Kaushik’s satire *Stree 2* delves into the supernatural, portraying demons who rise from the dead to institutionalize patriarchy by preying on women who dare to be ‘progressive’ in their educational or romantic choices, or even their haircuts. A memorable moment in the film features Pankaj Tripathi explaining in chaste Hindi that the length of a woman’s braid is irrelevant because even *parkati* (short-haired) women can stop the *Sarkata* (headless) male chauvinist in his tracks. This scene evokes memories of a late socialist leader’s disparaging remarks about *parkati mahilayen* in the context of the Women’s Reservation Bill in 1997.
In conclusion, despite the harrowing events of August, Indian cinema in 2024 continues to shine a light on the resilience of women, tackling issues of gender discrimination, patriarchy, and societal constraints with sensitivity and nuance.
