The portrayal of women in the popular Indian cinema has been a subject of great interest to the sociologists and psychologists alike. In any society the position of women is an index of progressiveness. Cinema being a mimesis of life, it forms an indispensable part of such a study. However, the interesting thing is that the portrayal of women has not really kept pace with the changing times. There is a yawning gap between the perception of the enlightened public and that of the popular film-makers in relation to the role of women in society.
The compulsions of this popular format can be understood by the fact that Indian films have been by and large morality plays – a tussle between good and evil. Mainstream cinema’s natural urge to please the lowest common denominator prompts it to fall back upon the traditional value system as a safe bait.
In traditional Indian society, there were prescribed norms for the ideal conduct of women. The concept of ‘Sati nari ‘ or ideal/virtuous woman is so deeply entrenched in the collective Indian psyche that it still regulates the social and sexual behaviour of women. No wonder, the concept of woman as self-sacrificing wife, loving mother and obedient daughter has been idealized by the main stream cinema.
According to the Manusmriti ( an ancient Hindu scripture), which had a profound influence in shaping the morals of Indian society, a female should be subject to her father before marriage, to her husband after marriage and after the death of her husband to the children. She must not strive to separate from her father, husband or sons. These norms which governed the lives of women in the society then, has been reinforced by Indian popular cinema.
Two roles that are particularly significant are those of mother and wife. The mother in Indian films is the embodiment of family sentiments and has been idolized to the status of a Goddess. She is often portrayed as a vital force in the family and the society. ‘Mother India’(1957), the ‘quintessential Indian film’ for many, epitomizes the concept of mother and even equates her to ‘Bharat Mata’.
The most appropriate word to describe the role of a wife is ‘Sati’, meaning an extreme devotion to one’s husband. The ideal wife must maintain her chastity and her sexual purity must be above board. Pre-marital sex is taboo and so is post-marital relationship. The Hindi film upholds the ‘traditional patriarchal views of society which fearful of female sexuality, demands of the woman a subjugation of her desires’ and further the need to preserve the honour of the family is expressed through ‘elaborate, codified behavior patterns that require woman to remain secluded, confined to the domestic domain and dependent on the husband’(Richards).
Women in Indian popular cinema are not forbidden from love – that is as long as it remains all consuming, untainted and platonic. This is the kind of romantic love depicted in mainstream cinema. The women who live by these standards are happy and those who transgress the limit are punished and victimized. There are any number of films which illustrate this.
An interesting character, the opposite of wife, seen in films is the vamp. Strangely enough she is modern, more westernized but is conceived as decadent. It is a queer contradiction in the sense that while modernity is perceived as progressive, the woman who identifies herself with modernity is a morally degraded person. Women who are career oriented, independent and are not devoted to a man are pitched against the wife to idealise traditional value system.
Another frequent representation of womanhood in Indian cinema is the courtesan. Subjects dealing with the aristocracy introduced this ‘type’ in Hindi films. ‘Devdas’ and ‘Umrao Jan’ are best examples of such a character. They exist outside domesticity and provide solace to the hero through song and dance. Unlike the vamp they are shown in a favourable light and at times turn out to be the ‘girl with a golden heart’.
It is a well known fact that Indian mainstream cinema produces large doses of sex and violence to cater to the perceived need of the audience. The question arises then how do these films titillate the audience and pander to their fetishism. That question brings to the fore the hypocrisy nurtured by our censoring system which till late did not allow kissing on screen but would not mind transparent vulgarity in songs and dialogues.
The Indian cinema excels in the matter of disguised acts of sexual excitement by acting on the principle that a half nude female body is more exciting than a nude. The strategy of using short skirts, skimpy swim suits in the chorus song and dance drills to facilitate maximum female body exposure has received no objection from the moral authorities. The gyratory movement of the pelvic arch and breast in item numbers is now being dished out in a liberal dose to generate sensuality in profusion. It however, does not raise moral issues for the audience.
The most popular device of course is drenching the female body in the rains. ‘Wet sari dance’ is often ‘legitimised by a sudden downpour that soaks the woman’s flimsy sari, and allows for a very provocative and sexually tantalizing female body’ (Richards). A similar device is the dream sequence. These dream sequences provide a good opportunity to indulge in the exploration of forbidden pleasures which include the display of the female body as well as the expression of sexual desire. In the earlier days another strategy was employed to suggest this forbidden act in private-public space. Best known as ‘behind the bush’ sequence, it invariably ended with the heroine coming out wiping her lips or arranging her sari.
All this goes to prove a psychological point that through its codes and conventions, popular cinema constructs the way in which women are to be looked at – scopophilia – the pleasure in viewing. It is a form of voyeurism which is facilitated by the vantage point the camera takes up for the spectator to satisfy his desire to look at all that that connotes in terms of fetishism.
