Female-Centric Films in Bollywood: Finally Some Progress?

Poster of Lipstick Under My Burkha

Recently, various filmmakers working in the Bollywood film industry have been making some films that have been noticeably female-centric, with the male actors playing pivotal supporting, but not primary, roles. Legitimate feminine representation in leading roles has been buried underneath the surface for too long in Bollywood, with most actresses playing either flowerpot roles (serving as solely love-interests to the protagonists in star-studded commercial vehicles) or having to share a significant amount of screen space with their male co-stars (think films like Barfi, Padmaavat, and Udta Punjab in which they are part of an ensemble cast and are relegated to shine in their specific, written roles). This unequal representation has its roots in severely flawed social constructs within Indian society of how men and women should be perceived and treated, and these constructs continue to pervade significant facets of Indian society today. Whether it be the prevalence of toxic masculinity, feelings of entitlement, forms of abuse, female objectification, or other deeply held prejudices and forms of discrimination, Indian women tend to merit less respect, perceived value, and experience more issues with their status in society than their male counterparts. These socially constructed perceptions of gender are gradually experiencing some degree of change, and the production, distribution, and critical/commercial appreciation of films such as Pink, Thappad, and Lipstick Under My Burkha are evident of these kinds of changing social norms despite prevalent speedbumps. This post will go in depth of how these films succinctly explore some of the discrimination and injustices that Indian women endure on a daily basis in conjunction with the convincing performances essayed by the lead actresses that really hammer home the takeaways.

Lipstick Under My Burkha will be the first film that I discuss largely because there are multiple important themes portrayed in this film, with some of them being depicted in considerably more depth in the other three films. The film stars four women in leading roles (Ratna Pathak Shah, Konkona Sen Sharma, Plabita Borthakur, and Aahana Kumara) and explores each of their individualized conflicts concerning their gender and what it really means to be a woman at their respective ages. The social construction of marriage and its relevant importance in shaping the financial well-being for a family, the domestic-public dichotomy, religiously-espoused cultural constructs, and age-defined social constructs are all phenomena that are explored in this film, and it will bring the viewer to contemplate the pain and suffering that these women experience when having to portray their falsified front-stage selves to appease their loved ones. Specifically, whether it’s observing Pathak Shah reading her more erotic novels and yearning to embrace her sexual desires/urges, Sharma having to endure constant emotional, psychological and physical abuse at the expense of her narcissistic husband, Borthakur resorting to shoplifting tactics simply to purchase accessories and clothing that are perceived as being too “exposing” and “religiously immoral”, and Kumara experiencing multiple existential crises concerning who to marry and spend the rest of her life with, you are left simply in shock and left to think how prevalent and realistic these issues are in India today and whether there’s really anything constructive being done to address these problems.

It’s a provocative film that deserves every bit of attention and respect, and it’s extremely pathetic that this film was initially banned by the Censor Board for being too “provocative” with its handling of the subject matter. In a day and age where Indian audiences are quite content with witnessing Salman freakin Khan getting intimate with actresses a whole generation apart from him and the Censor Board not having any qualms with issuing a rating for the film, it is sad that a film like Lipstick Under My Burkha is subject to more scrutiny due to its seemingly “deviant” departure from what is acceptable. As I mentioned earlier, the release and critical/commercial success of this film are key indicators that there is some segment of Indian society that is listening to the stories that these women have to tell; however, for every two steps taken forward, there is one step that’s taken back (as evidenced through the hurdles that the filmmakers needed to jump over in order to get it screened).

As for the other two films mentioned earlier, they all examine the fundamental idea of a woman’s self-worth/self-respect and how this is impacted by emotional, physical, and psychological abuse. Thappad explores the significance of a singular slap that’s inflicted on a woman by her husband. Throughout the course of the film, Taapsee Pannu comes to realize just how much self-worth and self-respect she has sacrificed for herself when in her marriage, and she understands that the origins of these doubts that she’s experiencing stem from the generations of women in her family that have been socially conditioned to accept their fates for what they are irrespective of the toxic masculinity, shame, and discrimination they might endure. This kind of behavior is still quite common amongst Indian households today, and a careful viewing of this film will put into perspective the sheer amount of entitlement and sense of authority that many men in these relationships possess. 

Pink takes this fundamental idea and delves into the question of what are acceptable forms of sexual consent. The answer is undoubtedly clear; both parties must mutually agree to engage in a particular sexual act. Anything initiated without mutual consent can be labeled as either sexual abuse, harrasment, or rape depending on the behavior exhibited and the damage inflicted. The three women who have accused the men for sexual assault are labeled as “prostitutes” by the lawyer for the men for the “open” behavior that they displayed when getting to know the men, giving credibility to the notion that if “maybe” the women were more docile, then everything would have been okay. The very essence of these women wanting to express their individuality is threatening to the perception of what’s deemed acceptable for women; it’s fitting that in the end of the film that Amitabh Bachchan laments at the blatant double-standard that is applied towards how women can behave versus how men can behave in India. Surveys have shown that India is one of the worst countries for women to visit or live in, and with the threats of these kinds of women being labeled as “prostitutes” and “immoral” in cases like these where they exhibit their individuality and steadfastness towards sexual acts, it is justifiable to believe that India is in this position. The arrogance is rampant amongst Indian men with these kinds of sexual tendencies. To really embark on meaningful, progressive change, these exact socially constructed beliefs and perceptions around what women are capable of must undergo some serious restructuring. Provisions and bills passed here or there will not address these core problems that continue to plague Indian women today.