In the column Let's Talk About Women, Sneha Bengani looks at films, the world of entertainment, and popular media through the feminist lens. Because it's important. Because it's needed. And because we're not doing it enough.
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When Nimrat Kaur’s Bimla Devi takes her chief ministerial oath after her husband’s incarceration in Netflix India’s recent release Dasvi, it reminded me very strongly of another scene from a web show on politics that started streaming on SonyLIV last year.
In Maharani, Huma Qureshi’s Rani Bharti becomes the surrogate chief minister of Bihar in situations not too different from those that lead to Bimla’s rise to power in Dasvi. Rani’s chief minister husband Bheema Bharti —played by Sohum Shah with great smug innocence — is incapacitated after he is shot during the Chhath Puja, a major festival in Bihar. He announces his wife as his successor to ensure the power and position stay within the home.
But Rani could not be more unqualified or unprepared for this new role thrust forcefully upon her. If Bimla could not read her oath properly, her inability heightened for laughs, Rani could not read it at all. For she is illiterate. She attended school till Class 4, and does not know how to write even her own name. She uses her thumb impression on every document that needs her signature.
Neena Gupta’s Manju Devi in Amazon Prime Video India’s 2020 show Panchayat is not too different either. The only remarkable irony that sets her situation apart from Bimla and Rani is that she is no surrogate politico filling in for her unavailable husband. Manju Devi, in fact, is the pradhan, the elected head of Uttar Pradesh’s Phulera village. But all of that is just in the name. For all practical purposes, it is her husband who functions as the acting pradhan as Manju Devi continues to look after the household.
These stories — of the rise of surrogate female leaders — may be set in different milieus and times. However, the way their lead women are treated and portrayed are stiflingly similar. They are all pawns called to action as the last-ditch resort of their scheming husbands to ensure they continue to wield power, even if not directly. Whether the women want it or not, whether they are cut out for it or not, they are forced to shoulder and fulfill an ambition that is not their own, that they received no training for.
If you pause to think even for a second, you will realise that it is a careful construct to ensure patriarchy continues to function at its self-serving best. It is just another form of looking after and caregiving. But here, instead of ensuring that they have a hot meal to eat, a clean bed to sleep in, and well-brought-up children to play with when they return home after a long day, the women are safeguarding their husband’s beloved gaddi so it is still there when they are back, just as cushy and comfortable, for them to warm their entitled ass on.
In all three of them — Dasvi, Maharani, and Panchayat — the real fun, if you ask me, lies in the discomfort on the men’s faces when — much to their shock — the wives refuse to give up the seat, and claim their stake instead. Why the disbelief though?
What were these men thinking? That their wives, after realising what they can do, would go back to rearing cattle and children? You wish.
Men know. They have always known. That once out, women would see all that have been deprived of, they would discover their true worth, realise their capabilities, and they will not return. As Rani begins to find her voice as the new CM in Maharani, the governor says, “Jinn botal se bahar nikal gaya hai. Ab wapas andar nahi jayega" (You cannot put the genie back in the bottle now). This is what men have always been afraid of and tried with all their might to prevent. The jinn should remain in the bottle, and serve dutifully always.
It is a pity that Dasvi largely uses Bimla for comic relief, and does not give her enough space or thought to flourish. But Maharani makes no such mistake. It carefully constructs Rani’s evolution from an illiterate, village housewife whose life circled around cattle and children to an independent-thinking woman in power with courage enough to send her husband to jail for corruption.
In the climactic sequence of Maharani, when Rani visits her husband in jail, he, who is feeling betrayed, quietly threatens her, “Bohot jaldi bahar aayenge hum. Tab Bihar ko apne saheb aur rani me se kisi ek ko chunna hoga." (I will be out very soon. Bihar will have to choose between the king and the queen then).
Ouch. That is how a spoilt child’s groan sounds when he is asked to share his candy for the first time. But women, we specialise in dealing with children, don’t we? Rani looks at Bheema impassively, and replies, “Chunna toh aapko hai saheb. Bahar aa ke patni khojenge, toh hum milenge. Aur mukhya mantri khojenge, toh Rani Bharti ko payenge” (It is you who have to make the choice. If you seek a wife, you will find me. If you seek power, you will find Rani Bharti).
Dasvi is streaming on Netflix India and Jio Cinema.
When not reading books or watching films, Sneha Bengani writes about them. She tweets at @benganiwrites.
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