Jaa… Jee Le Apni Zindagi: On Fathers Confronting Feminism in Hindi Cinema
A still from Gunjan Saxena: The Kargil Girl
From the fierce Baldev Singh in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, the inimical patriarchs in Mohabbatein and Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham, and gentler fathers in Thappad and Gunjan Saxena, Harshita Murkarka takes a look at the evolution of fatherhood in the post economic-liberalised Bollywood.
In Anubhav Sinha’s Thappad (2020), we are introduced to the gentle and sensitive father, Sachin, played to perfection by the excellent Kumud Mishra. Sachin stands up for his daughter Amrita (Taapsee Pannu) when everyone advices her to forgive her husband who, in a fit of rage, accidently slaps her during a house party. Unlike the other characters in the film—including Amrita’s mother—Sachin’s first impulse is to not cajole his daughter into going home to keep the family together. While her mother-in-law retorts, “Thoda bardaasht karna seekhna chahiye auraton ko” (Women must learn to tolerate a little bit), Sachin is worried of her emotional and mental state, and asks his wife, “Aapko pata tha maarta hai use?” (Did you know he hits her?)
A deep dive into our society’s entrenched misogyny and normalized male entitlement, Thappad forces us to take notice of how even deeply sensitive men such as Amrita’s father may also be unconsciously propagating regressive values, and what a huge difference it makes when they actively try to redress and reverse it. Above all, it captures the strength women derive just from knowing that their father has their back. While Amrita grapples with the emotional turmoil, she turns to Sachin was solace. Though it may seem like the right thing to do, unfortunately several women in our socio-cultural milieu do not have that support.
Hindi cinema has emerged and established itself as one of the most widely consumed form of visual media worldwide. In solidifying its position as the largest producer of feature films, it plays a profound role in shaping, reflecting and reinforcing dominant socio-economic and cultural narratives. This is precisely the reason why the evolution of Hindi cinema landscape is parallel with the changes in the society. While the period following partition was dominated by narratives centered on nation-building, gangster films captivated the public imagination during the 1970s, reflecting increasing discontent and economic inequality in the society.
It was the 1990s which ushered the third era of Hindi cinema—a period marked by economic liberalisation. Interestingly, it was also a time of the resurgence of the Hindu right wing. As a result of it, the Indian diaspora was gaining prominence, and family dramas were witnessing a comeback, as argued by noted film scholar Jyotika Virdi in her book The Cinematic ImagiNation: Indian Popular Films as Social History.
The impact of economic liberalisation in India was profound and the changes were significant in heralding a new era marked by increased consumption, growing aspirations and corroding familial and societal ties. Fareed Kazmi’s observation in this regard from the 1999 text The Politics of India's Conventional Cinema: Imaging a Universe, Subverting the Multiverse is particularly noteworthy,
In a society where the institute of the joint family is almost dead, where millions have been uprooted from their social moorings, where even amongst the middle class the atomic nuclear family is under severe stress, with continuous friction not only between the wife and the in-laws but also between the husband and the wife, where divorce rates are going up, the image of a happy, united family is bound to appeal to the audience.
Thappad forces us to take notice of how even deeply sensitive men such as Amrita’s father may also be unconsciously propagating regressive values, and what a huge difference it makes when they actively try to redress and reverse it. Above all, it captures the strength women derive just from knowing that their father has their back.
Some of the biggest films of this time, and the decade succeeding it, such as Hum Aapke Hain Kaun (1994), Hum Saath Saath Hain (1999), Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (1995), and Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham (2001) deftly integrated the ‘national’ and the ‘familial’, thereby capturing the cultural aspect of economic liberalisation and drawing masses to the cinemas like never before. Coincidentally, it was also a time that marked the transition from single screen to multiplexes. Growing aspirations and globalisation coupled with economic necessities required people to split up, joint families made way for nuclear families, but a nostalgia for the ‘good old times’ persisted.
Filmmakers such as Karan Johar and Yash Chopra captured the pulse of a divided nation, which pined for the imagined glories of the past by taking Hindi cinema overseas. Family melodramas, ensemble casts and themes of nationalism and familial duty dominated the screen. Despite taking first steps towards modernisation, the resilience of the traditional family system remained intact. The 1990s also laid the foundation for what was to come, both in terms of the form and content.
Romance occupies a pivotal space in the Hindi cinema universe. Notably, romance never exists in isolation, but operates in a complex web of family values, societal norms and age-old traditions. Family melodramas then become a fertile ground for unraveling of “gender politics, representation of masculinity and femininity, and the transaction between them in heterosexual romance”, writes Virdi. The pan-Indian sensibility born in the wake of economic liberalisation continued to relegate women to the margins, bowing to the ultra-nationalist and hyper masculine forces that have a long history of festishising women as objects, worthy to be controlled and dominated.
While the cultural space may have begun to metamorphise since then, the space given to women remains scant. Not only are they burdened with familial responsibilities, but are also stripped of agency from a young age. This subjugation of women which continues unabated off-screen has only been magnified by the potent medium of cinema, which has been complacent in portraying women as subordinate to their male counterparts. From dutiful daughters living under the thumb of a megalomaniac father (Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, Mohabbatein) to wives suffering the uncalled wrath of abusive husbands (Lajja, Provoked, Daman) to self-effacing mothers (Karan Arjun, Baazigar, English Vinglish), we have seen it all.
Though men in Hindi cinema enjoy disproportionate power over their female counterparts as husbands, fathers, sons or brothers, representations of fathers on screen have been particularly telling. Furthermore, the father-daughter relationship on screen has largely remained one-dimensional, with fathers holding unbridled authority over the life of their daughters. It is imperative to note that unquestioned parental reverence embedded in the Indian society also has a significant role to play in repeatedly casting fearsome patriarchs and meek daughters on screen, representations that are often reflections of the society. Therefore, any conversation about female emancipation and women empowerment therefore would be incomplete without critically engaging with the evolution (or the lack of it) of father-daughter relationship in Bollywood. This is also crucial because the heteronormative and traditional stronghold of the family continues to tighten its grip on Hindi cinema consonant with its consistent relevance in the Indian society at large.
It will not be wrong to say that delineation of women begins at home much like the internalisation of patriarchy which impacts both men and women. Social scientist Deepa Narayan makes a pertinent observation in this regard, “Our oppression starts innocuously: it occurs in private life, within families, with girls being locked up in their own homes. This everyday violence is the product of a culture that bestows all power on men, and that does not even want women to exist.”
‘Jaa Simran, Jee Le Apni Zindagi’: Caged Desires and Reluctant Benevolence
Aditya Chopra’s Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge has cemented its position as one of the biggest films of Hindi cinema. It is the longest running film in the history of Bollywood having successfully been on show for over twenty years at Mumbai’s Maratha Mandir. It still regularly gets aired on satellite television and the film’s popularity remains overwhelmingly consistent among the audiences spanning generations both India and abroad.
When her father arranges her marriage without even asking her, she simply responds by saying, “Shayad Kuljeet hi mera sapna ho”, showcasing how patriarchy manifests itself by turning women into interpellated subjects devoid of agency and choice. Even in the ‘happy’ resolution, we understand that women are mere objects fit to be passed on from the father to the husband.
One of the reasons behind this appeal of DDLJ is that it succinctly captures the essence of liberalised India. The first half of the narrative is set in Europe showcasing the rising aspirations of Indians and the transition from poverty to wealth while holding on to accepted norms of societal propriety. By bringing Europe closer home, it not just bridges the gap between NRIs and Indians, but also binds them together in a shared identity. Right at the outset, the film compartmentalises gender roles and despite being set in London upholds many stereotypical patriarchal conventions typical of the Indian society even today.
Marital conformism and premarital chastity are pivots around which the narrative is woven. The central character Simran (Kajol) is expected to be the repository of family honour and tradition and negate her desires in the face of strict parental authority. Choosing a romantic partner is seen as a transgression on Simran’s part and she is expected to sacrifice her love to preserve family’s ‘honour’ and acquiesce to the wishes of her strict father. When her father arranges her marriage without even asking her, she simply responds by saying, “Shayad Kuljeet hi mera sapna ho”, showcasing how patriarchy manifests itself by turning women into interpellated subjects devoid of agency and choice. Even in the ‘happy’ resolution, we understand that women are mere objects fit to be passed on from the father to the husband.
Women stripped of agency and autonomy is in fact a standard template that several films have replicated, reaping handsome dividends at the box office. Successful films such as Hum Aapke Hain Kaun, Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham, Raja Hindustani (1996) propagate regressive patriarchal ideas where women are forced into subjugation. A cursory look at most Hindi films of the time—and even today—shows limited imaginations of a woman’s romantic agency. While marriage is seen as the most logical and desired culmination of romance, parental endorsement is mandated for marriage to gain social sanction. Most importantly, marriage is expected to follow prescribed rules of cultural and social propriety i.e. marrying within one’s class and caste.
In Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham, Raj (Shah Rukh Khan) faces the wrath of his father when he dares to move beyond the confines of his class in choosing Anjali (Kajol) as his prospective partner. Being a man, however, he could at least afford to move away from home, stick to his choice and rebuild a home in London away from the family. Unfortunately, this is a choice seldom available to women. In Mohabbatein (2000), Megha (Aishwarya Rai) falls in love with Raj, a student in Gurukul run by his father. Her father disapproves, and she dies by suicide. This self-annihilation in the face of parental opposition is what explains the difference between the gendered imbalance. In Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999), Nandini (Aishwarya Rai) is not only forced to marry as per the wishes of her father but also made to undergo a change of heart as the narrative progresses. She embraces the role of a devoted wife sacrificing her lover in the face of conjugal duties.
Raja Hindustani, another film that has invited much scholarly attention is an interesting case study. Though Aarti stands by her decision to choose her own life partner (who is much below her social class) even in the face of her father’s disapproval, the decision proves catastrophic. She transitions from being a modern girl to a meek and submissive wife, thereby conforming to marital gender stereotypes sustained over generations.
This is a theme which has hardly lost currency with two of the most successful Hindi films of the 21st century reinforcing them in full glory. In Jab We Met (2007), Geet (Kareena Kapoor) faces severe repercussions of eloping with her boyfriend much to the dismay of her family, a fate shared by Preeti (Kiara Advani) in the popular Kabir Singh (2019). The message that these films seem to convey is almost unequivocal i.e. there is little scope for transgression and exhibition of female desire and autonomy in the stifling heteronormative patriarchal order.
This explains the relevance of films such as Hum Aapke Hain Kaun and Hum Saath Saath Hain. These ‘family dramas’ have immense repeat value and are enjoyed by families together till date. Interestingly, these films exalt stereotypical patriarchal values and celebrate upper-caste, upper-class Hindu values as the epitome of Indianness and Indian culture. These are films which have at their heart a well to do upper caste Hindu family, a domestic squabble and its resolution as the central premise which is apt for reinforcing traditional patriarchy, which almost always marginalises women, Muslims and other socio-ethnic minorities.
‘Pinjre mein qaid hojana nahi, Pinjra todke udd jana hai’
It is in this context and history of Hindi cinema that the recent departure from patriarchal fathers to those exhibiting feminist streaks seems a welcoming change. Though conservative and dominating patriarchs and self-effacing women still remain the norm in Bollywood (Sultan, Dangal) some films in the 21st century such as Piku (2015), Queen (2014), Thappad (2020), Bareilly ki Barfi (2017) and the recent Gunjan Saxena (2020) have challenged the older portrayals of fatherhood. These are also films which have bothered to give women a career, as opposed to relegating them to four walls of the house.
The idea of woman at work is particularly pertinent, because only nine countries around the world—including Syria and Iraq—have a lower female workforce participation rate than India, according to the periodic labor force survey (PLFS) data published by the NSSO. Three out of four women over the age of 15 in India are neither working nor seeking work. Although the number of women in higher education has been on the rise, it still troublesome that two in three Indian women in the prime working ages (30-50) are still relegated to home, tending to unpaid domestic duties.
While there are a host of socio-economic factors behind these abysmal statistics, there is no denying that culturally, women are expected to be little more than obedient wives and devoted mothers. Societal attitudes along with age-honoured stereotypes restrict women from not just entering certain professions but also denying them their right to work in several cases.
The Colonel is a man who understands the difference between suraksha (protection) and swatantrata (freedom), and wants his daughter to realise her full potential… It is remarkable for a father in Hindi cinema to push his daughter towards her dreams when all of society expects women is to give up their career and embrace domesticity.
The eponymous heroine in Shoojit Sircar’s Piku—played by a convincing Deepika Padukone—is a force to reckon with, and a breath of fresh air in a cinematic universe populated with women mired in quotidian struggles of domestic life. An architect by profession, here is a woman in charge of her life. More endearing is the bond between Piku and her father, Bhaskor (Amitabh Bachchan) who respects her choices and doesn’t see her as a responsibility he has to get rid of. The one-of-a-kind relationship is peppered with routine quibbles but not without deep affection for each other. In Bhaskor, the filmmakers give us a father who isn’t shy of introducing his daughter as financially and sexually independent—something he is absolutely comfortable with. This radical departure from seeing women as the custodian of family honour, epitome of virginal chastity to seeing them as individuals with desires and quirks makes Piku an attentively progressive film.
While Piku gives us an irritable yet liberal father, Lieutenant Colonel Anup Saxena in Sharan Sharma’s Gunjan Saxena is yet another example of how supportive and progressive fathers can make a ton of difference, not just in the lives of their daughters, but also in dismantling deeply entrenched notions of patriarchy in our society. An army officer by profession, Col. Saxena (Pankaj Tripathi) leaves no stone unturned in challenging regressive ideas and gender bias—starting right from his home. He is a father who indulges his daughter’s dreams, fights his wife and son’s internalised misogyny, and offers a secure and sincere source of support as Gunjan (Janhvi Kapoor) encounters everyday sexism in her workplace. The strength of the film lies in the nuances: how Col. Saxena asks the boys in the neighborhood to let Gunjan play cricket with them, how he never stops her from going to late night movie shows, how he calmly yet resolutely retorts, “Beta plane ladka udaye ya ladki, dono ko pilot hi kehte hain” (“My child, whether a boy flies a plane or a girl, we call both a pilot”).
The family dinner-time conversations, standing up to unsolicited advice of pesky relatives and nosy neighbours, and consistently checking his son’s cynicism are all remarkably staged. The Colonel is a man who understands the difference between suraksha (protection) and swatantrata (freedom), and wants his daughter to realise her full potential. I loved how nonchalantly he passes on small snippets of wisdom in seemingly inconsequential moments, thereby breaking stereotypes one step at a time. I got teary eyed when he irritably remarks, “Hamari bachchi apna career chod ke parathe banana chahti hai” (“My daughter wants to leave her career and make parathas”) on Gunjan’s instance on ‘settling down’ in the face of huge discrimination in her workplace.
It is remarkable for a father in Hindi cinema to push his daughter towards her dreams when all of society expects women is to give up their career and embrace domesticity. One wishes that more fathers would emerge as feminist allies, that more fathers taught their daughters to break the cage and fly away.
Laudable as the additions of films like Piku, Thappad, and Gunjan Saxena are to a slew of dominating and unaccommodating fathers in Bollywood, one concession needs to be made. Though these recent films have done reasonably well—inviting both commercial and critical acclaim—there is no denying that these are stories of the few and not the many. Besides, most of these films succeed in eliciting applause for the feminist depiction of fathers often happen when juxtaposed with conservative mothers, who coerce their daughters into replicating their own life choices and trajectories.
Furthermore, women like Amrita, Gunjan and Piku are shielded by the privileges of their birth; all of these women come from a certain social stratum and have visibly different options presented in their life, as opposed to many others who belong to the lower rungs of the hierarchy, and stand disadvantaged not just by their gender, but also by their caste and class.
Sure, when compared to Simrans and Aartis and their fathers, there is a noteworthy shift in the recent portrayals of father-daughter relationships. But the efficacy of this trend will only be felt holistically when the ambit of representations widens to include all strata of society, and where comparatively liberal men are not hailed as heroes, but are instead held accountable to a higher standard. We are now in the 21st century and men such as Bhashkor Banerjee and Colonel Anup Saxena should be the norm—and not an exception.
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Harshita Murarka is a communications professional currently associated with a UK-based firm. She holds a Master’s in English Literature from the University of Delhi and a Master’s in Media and Communications from the London School of Economics and Political Science. She has an inclination towards arts, culture and Hindi cinema which leads to occasional stints in writing. You can find her on Instagram: @nectar_in_a_sieve and Twitter: @HarshitaMurarka.
