For decades, cinemas have been have been producing media that bore the hopeful promise of empowerment but instead turned it into a hollow reflection of the very nuance that Indian society fails to provide to its women today. Today, we see widely appreciated Indian films constantly depicting female characters as honourable through an alleged sense of “respect” that tends to appear in the form of a loss of self-respect. We often see this perfect wrapped in an intricate plot that often even makes us cry but allows disrespect and exploitation to hide behind the disguise of compassion and benevolence. This reflects not only the narrative that has been posed to us for generations but also shapes the very ideals we continue to live by through subconscious biases built through the media we consume. Now, we must finally step back and question the female protagonist that made us strive towards perfection - the overburdened daughter-in-law, who wore a heavy sari, touched her in-laws' feet, forgave every betrayal, and never once raised her voice. As she lost her voice that carried millions of dreams, hopes and aspirations, so did an entire generation of Indian youth shaped by narratives that taught them to mistake silence for virtue and sacrifice for worth.
Indian films now put women onto screens more often than ever seen before, wrapped in light, warm, cosy emotions that fail to reflect the nuance of these valuable individuals. In the movie Kabir Singh (2019), we see Preeti, a protagonist acting as a quiet, submissive love interest, whose core identity remains centred around the male gaze. Rather than being given an opportunity to develop one sense of individuality, Preeti is forced into enduring and validating toxic male behaviour. Indian Cinema, rather than recognising the struggles of Preeti decides to give audiences a happy ending, reinforcing the idea that control and violence mean devotion. Preeti’s forgiveness is portrayed as proof that it was love all along. These troubling depictions show us how filmmaking incentives often center around leaving audiences with a sense of fulfilment, even when that comfort is built on a woman’s erasure.
Even films with the best intention of uplifting women often fail to give women the true appreciation they deserve. Pink (2016) tells the story of three women accused of misconduct after one resists a man's advances. It caters heavily to the idea of consent but at the same time allows power and strength to lie in the hands of a male lawyer, while sidelining the importance of the women in the process. The women remain frightened and reliant, haunted by decades of social conditioning that suppressed the desire to seek justice through the means of standing up for themselves. This portrayal undermines the idea of female capability and propagates the narrative that women require justice to be delivered by a man. Through this depiction, we see this subtly influencing the mindset of young women to continue to be silenced and wait for justice to be delivered through male dominance. We also see this having a major effect on the youth being unable to develop nuances in their own character, remaining dictated by the narrow roles they watched on screen: the obedient daughter, the grateful survivor, and the woman who waits to be rescued.
However, we are beginning to see a gradual shift in the mindset of Indian cinema. Lipstick Under My Burkha (2016), directed by Alankrita Shrivastava, tells the story of four women in Bhopal, a college student, a beautician, a mother of three, and an older widow, who clandestinely chase independence. These women are contradictory, flawed, and real. During the release of this movie, we observed massive resistance from institutions that remain opposed to the idea of women picking up a pen and finally deciding to write their own story. Meanwhile, Thappad (2020) asks what happens when a woman decides that a single slap is enough. Neither film offers a neat, sacrificial heroine, but they cater to audiences that are slowly evolving to value authenticity over a curated image of women
This is where real hope lies, when women start crafting their own stories that act as a reflection of the deeply nuanced women we envisage Indian society to value. When audiences start to value this depth over familiar stories that leave them with a fleeting sense of happiness, we will begin to see a stronger, more complex range of female characters that creates real representation through authenticity.
