Culture Wrappings: Sanskar aur Parampara (Culture and Tradition)
Saturdays were performatively, one of the most Indian days of the week. The public TV channels ran Indian programs and every couple of weeks we drove to University Ave in Berkeley where a sizable section of the long street is lined with South Asian owned shops and businesses. This section of the East Bay Area in California is a big part of my childhood and has remained an important area for the South Asian community and local economy.
The last stop of our regular route was the movie rental shop where metal wire shelves stacked with VHSs and DVDs lined all of the walls. My mom would go straight to the owner for recommendations and he in turn, would pull a few plastic cases from the two minimally stocked shelves. I have no idea if he watched every movie as soon as it came out, but that man whom I only ever addressed as ‘Uncle,’ had an encyclopedic knowledge of Bollywood films.
We usually brought them to my nani’s(maternal grandmother) house or to an aunt and uncle’s because renting these movies was an event with top tier snacks like fried taro sprinkled with chili and boiled cassava dipped in spicy chutney. There was a sense of celebration and community that seems to have gone the way of physical movie rentals (RIP Blockbuster and DVD Netflix service) and even streaming hasn’t managed to revive it.
Just as holiday decorations were packed away until it was time to bring them out and our puja dishes for cooking strictly vegetarian food lived in storage containers until they were needed, within each plastic case was contained a brief trip to a sort of perpendicular universe. Life was more intense and over the top, the colors brighter, the music sweeter.
But the threads that still connect us to this universe are a particular set of values about family, religion, culture, etc. There is a famous set of lines from a song performed in the movie Shree 420: Mera joota hai Japani, Yeh patloon Englishtani, Sar pe laal topi Roosi, Phir bhi dil hai Hindustani – My shoes are Japanese, My trousers are English, The red hat on my head is Russian, Still my heart is Indian. Given the historical context in which the song was released, there’s a few ways you could read this song, but over the years, these lines have come to symbolize a kind of unity that exists beyond people with Indian roots identifying themselves with one particular country.
But that’s why I hesitate when sharing Bollywood with people outside of that connection. Somehow the disparate trains of thought existing in one body smack more of hypocrisy rather than an internal conflict. I can watch them alone or with some family and friends and grumble about the nationalism, reinforcing patriarchal values, the simultaneous hyper-sexualization and subjugation of women – seriously how can something manage to be packed to the brim with virtue whilst seething with so much unfulfilled horniness?
But when I watch a movie with someone who doesn’t share in these experiences, every chortle or need to point out something illogical or what clashes with their personal values, raises my hackles a little without thinking. Hearing someone laugh at things that are meant to be serious or emotional elicits a shamed hunch in my shoulders. I hate the idea that films I grew up loving might be treated as a laughing stock.
From the outside looking in, Bollywood’s cultural influence isn’t always apparent. In the late 1980s and early 90s, Bollywood was beginning to acknowledge and respond to the appeal that films had for NRI (Non-resident Indians) and PIO (People of Indian Origin) audiences. At the same time, India was also experiencing rapid industrial growth in these decades which contributed to this cultural shift in cinema. What this generally translates to on film are stories of wealthy families who enjoy the material benefits of western capitalism while maintaining at the core, hegemonic ‘Indian’ values.
Upward social mobility means having wealth and status which allows the children to have a western education, something that is still common. In Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham, sons Rahul and Rohan are both sent away first to boarding school, then to study in London before they are expected to return to India and marry a person of their parents’ choosing (spoiler alert: it doesn’t go as planned).
Sometimes there is a slight reversal to the trend as in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge where the family lives abroad in England but the patriarch Baldev constantly longs for his homeland of Punjab. It isn’t until his daughter Simran’s marriage to the son of a childhood friend is fixed that they can return to India. Return being a loaded term here because for their daughters, the concept of India existed most clearly within their parents’ home.
For all the cultural diversity within India and among Indian cultures abroad, Bollywood has been remarkably successful at convincing international audiences that these values are representative of an entire ‘nation’ at ‘home’ and ‘abroad.’ Problematic? Absolutely. Especially given the continued rise of Hindu nationalism in Indian politics and Bollywood’s alarming, not complacency, rather support of this dangerous narrative. But it’s also undeniable that Bollywood has and will continue to fill a cultural gap felt by many people of Indian origins.
The conflicting, often downright illogical views when it comes to love, virtue, pride and honor, family values, gender roles, and personal boundaries that existed onscreen were a near perfect fit for the values many of us were raised with. It was okay for Rani Mukherjee to sing a Hindu prayer song in a mini skirt and crop top whereas I was told off for wearing a spaghetti strap through airport security – nevermind they wouldn’t let me through without removing my two outer layers.
As an adult who is a bit better at recognizing things that weren’t okay, it’s now impossible to rewatch the Bollywood of my youth without a 2024 gaze, nor can I write about my initial impressions without today’s thoughts and feelings gawking from the wings. Recently I was rewatching Awaara (1951) with my dad. We hadn’t watched it since I was a kid. In one scene, Nargis and Raj Kapoor are at the beach and Nargis is wearing a perfectly normal swimming suit and beating the shit out of Raj Kapoor when it comes to acrobatic swimming skills. Excellent. But, later after they are walking along the beach, a comment about his low social status triggers his male insecurity and he slaps her. The cringe-worthy scene ends with her begging forgiveness. NO.
I’m starting to wonder if it’ll take hypnotherapy to go back to a time when young me had no clue that Anumpam Kher and Himani Shivpuri flirting over a carrot and a fallen rose in DDLJ was a painfully obvious innuendo.
That being said, time traveling back to a younger, less informed gaze is a pointless exercise. My earliest experiences with Bollywood films have left a lasting impression on me – outside of pop culture deciding that certain films deserve to be referred to as classics. So keeping all that in mind, I would like to share some brief thoughts on three films whose initial imprints have remained with me and the eyes through which I see them now. Whether you shared a similar experience or are brand new to all of this, I hope you’ll find something to connect to.
Hum Saath Saath Hain (dir. Sooraj R. Barjatya 1999)
This modern retelling of The Ramayana centers on the joys and struggles of a wealthy industrialist, Hindu family. It’s mostly a diabetically sweet movie with a character count to rival Game of Thrones, where something inconvenient happens two hours into the movie before it’s resolved and the family emerges stronger than ever. Despite the enormity of their wealth they are devoted to their faith, each other, and the industrialization of rural India through factories and power plants.
The film was appealing in part because of the retelling, but more because of their unshakeable love for each other which even prompts the first of the married couples to bring the entire family on their honeymoon. This intense devotion to the unit – unfathomable in real life – was a kind of balm because our family existed in separate little pockets, distanced by countries, cities, motorways, commute traffic, and diverging lives dictated by individual ambitions.
The downside is that many characters lack depth to their personalities, identifiable only by certain traits, like being late, smiling at the floor, or reciting poetry in Urdu. But it’s worth watching because the strength of this patriarchal unit is unbreakable – which is not the outcome in The Ramayana. It’s also packed with songs and a lot of good choreography to learn.
Devadas (dir. Sanjay Leela Bhansali, 2003)
Adapted to film from the original Bengali-language novel published in 1917, the basic plot is a tragic, unfulfilled love between childhood friends Devdas and Paro. Think of Bhansali as the Baz Luhrmann of Bollywood to help you put this adaptation into context. It’s a visually stunning film, dripping with gold ornaments and pulsing with so much sexual energy, it’s no wonder everyone dances so hard.
But a sensory feast which highlights talented costume and lighting designers, cinematographers, and choreographers cannot disguise a flat story. The mortality of the original story where Paro and Devdas are kept apart and by caste and class divisions and Devdas’ transforms into a gaunt, shell of a body as a result of his alcohol abuse, in this version, Paro and Devdas are like characters in a fable, still ethereally beautiful despite all the terrible things that happen.
This movie was my first experience with Devdas and Paro and I was naturally drawn to the visuals. It felt like my generation’s version of beautiful epics like Pakeezah or Mughal-e-Azam and watching it was pure emotional turmoil where you just want someone to have a happy life. For our families, the standout version of Devdas was the 1955 version with Dillip Kumar and much like versions of A Star is Born, adaptations of Devdas seem to draw in big name stars.
Bhansali’s version excels in choreography with two powerhouses of dance, Aishwarya Rai and Madhuri Dixit.
The first time we watched them dance together in the item number ‘Dola re Dola,’ my mother turned to me, a note of pride in her voice and declared, ‘Let’s see Fred and Ginger do that!’
If you watch this one, do take the time to watch the older adaptations and maybe read the book. Avoid it if you only like happy endings.
Dil to Pagal Hai (dir. Yash Chopra, 1997)
A love triangle comedy about a dance troupe. Rahul, producer and performer of a dance troupe announces in front of an audience that they will debut ‘Maya’ a musical about a girl waiting for her true love. The problem is this show doesn’t exist – yet – and there’s no girl out there like Maya – or is there?
Think of this a bit like the geek to chic trope but instead it’s spunky to sanskaari. Rahul’s love interest Pooja is the idealized Desi girl. Shy, submissive, and virtuous, her friend sums it up by declaring that Desi girls don’t have a say in their own future. In complete contrast, Rahul’s fellow troupe member Nisha is confident and independent. She dresses mainly in western clothes and calls out Rahul on his BS.
Actually I was freshly into my teens when I saw this movie, when the body image issues were really starting to take off. Instinctually I liked Nisha a lot more because she had that thing that women are apparently not supposed to have. What was it? Personality? Self-confidence? A job she’s dedicated to? My silly female brain must have forgotten what it was.
It was one of those weird moments when, looking back, I realize that I actually was capable of recognizing healthy patterns. But my insecurities were strengthened by seeing one-dimensional Pooja get the happy ending.
This conformity pattern gets repeated a few years later, and more successfully in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, so this movie is the real hero because Nisha accepts the situation and steps back having never changed herself to please Rahul.
Twenty five plus years later, I’m glad that Nisha seems to be getting the praise she deserves. While my feelings have altered with time, they haven’t taken away my love for these films and close, loving context in which they were consumed. Instead, I would argue that we were raised to see the best parts of our culture and that some of it was made visible via Bollywood. However, this was a world we visited rather than took at face value as the life we should be expected to lead. It is that which has allowed me to hold these films dear whilst still being critical. I hope that sparks some interest for you, dear reader, to watch these films if you are so inclined.
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