Still reeling under the decadent romance and stupefying gestures of the Valentine Week?
Perhaps then, this is the perfect time to talk of real love and lasting relationships.
Love is simple but subtle; it is supposed to be unconditional but needs understanding too; and though it is impulsive, it has to be intentionally implemented every day. These unspoken nuances of the primordial emotion, love, was once again aroused within me as I watched the recent Zee5 movie, Mrs, over the weekend. Not only is it a beautiful movie with a bold message, but also a critique of the Indian socio-cultural scenario and the charades it puts up in the name of love and its expressions.
Mrs is an ordinary story – a story we see around us or maybe live it, in parts or all the time.
Richa, an effervescent young woman with dreams of becoming a dancer, gets married to an amiable man, who happens to be a gynaecologist. Diwakar, the husband, however, prefers being called ‘doctor of female anatomy’ and soon enough we’ll know why. Interestingly, there is no force or friction in the act of getting married. It is consensual but immediately after it, everything becomes its absolute contrary.
Now that sounds familiar, isn’t it?
Richa is happy in her ‘new’ home, basks in her husband’s initial showering of love and rushes into the kitchen every morning to help her mother-in-law. Though she has seen her own mother mostly busy in the kitchen, her mother-in-law’s uncanny sincerity and unquestionable servitude baffles her. Here I must admit that the mother-in-law’s character has been presented as a humanoid figure, who works round the clock without care (for herself) or complaint. And it is here that the movie thrives by making the viewer as uncomfortable as the protagonist herself. While there is no heavy drama in the reels, the frustration keeps simmering with every scene till you would want to scream for real.
The reason being, it happens in our lives too. Even right now, women, married or in partnerships, are coerced into submission and their dreams are diluted by duties and patriarchal dynamics. Often the men or for that matter, women, we are dealing with are apparently informed and progressive and thus the sexism perpetrated becomes casual and not opposing.
The wedding gifts being casseroles and food processors relegate the woman to her place, the kitchen.
The husband works for twelve hours and demands a royal treatment back home. The wife, however, has no working hours as what she does is hardly any ‘work’! It is inconsequential that she had a PhD or a dance troupe or any achievement (if one may claim so) since the only parameter to gauge her becomes her incessant attempts to placate her men.
On top of that, the men are harder to please than Gods and always find faults in the best endeavours and the most challenging enterprises. That is exactly what Richa encounters once her mother-in-law leaves to take over the kitchen of her pregnant daughter and she is left on her own to manage the entitled men. The next day itself, the father-in-law gives unsolicited advice to Richa on the need of using the ‘sil-batta’ for grinding and how indispensable it is to prepare ‘biriyani’, the ‘dum’ (slow-cooked) way. The men never pick up their plates after eating while the women have to lay out the men’s clothes and their shoes too. Even wash and shine them as per her man’s whims and wishes.
All in the name of love, would you say?
While the actors have given stellar performances, it is the visual images that hit the hardest. Initially, the gastronomical shots are pure visual delights, but gradually, they become dark and insufferable. They reflect sheer domestic drudgery that women are subject to without acknowledgement or appreciation. The leaking tap in the kitchen becomes a moving metaphor for Richa’s relationship and how it is depleting her, drop by drop.
Dance, which defines Richa, is no longer ‘allowed’ either as a recreation or a profession. Afterall, “Hobby ko job kaun banata hain?” She has to slog in the kitchen and on the bed too. Her voicing of the lack of love in sex draws vulgar remarks from her egotistical husband. So much so that the ‘kitchen smell’ that becomes a part of his wife’s aura changes from being ‘the sexiest smell of the world’ to ‘baas’ (stench). Of course, gaslighting is a generic trait of most men, including our neighbours, relatives, friends, fathers-in-law or our fathers as well.
I realise what the insightful director, Arati Kadav, means about making the film when she says that it “felt more like activism than a film that would help my career…”
Without drawing any parallels to the original masterpiece, The Great Indian Kitchen, Mrs is a movie that needs a watch, whether you are a woman or not. The closing is cathartic, to say the least, and acts as a cue for a colossal collective change. As the protagonist points out, “problem purani hain…puri pipeline hi badalni padegi…” (A total overhaul is needed to address the long-standing problem). And for that the woman has to take the first step, even if it appears stupefying and surreal. Like Richa, she has to step out of the claustrophobia of a cage to experience the expanse of intentional living. The shock may not shatter a particular Diwakar but will shake up many Diwakars in the process.
Certain lines from the poem A Work of Artifice by the American activist, Marge Piercy, come to my mind. Every day, the gardener croons to the bonsai… “It is your nature to be small and cozy, domestic and weak; how lucky, little tree, to have a pot to grow in.” But the bonsai must remember that it “could have grown eighty feet tall on the side of a mountain…” That can happen only when a woman learns to seek and solicit love, which is authentic and empowering.
And that love always begins with the Self!
By Promita Banerjee Nag
An avid word enthusiast and content-churner, Promita is fuelled by novel writings, ideas and light-hearted banter. A teacher by passion, she treads the path of unequivocal learning with and through her students. Mother, music and ‘mishti’ mostly convince her. If you wish for a tête-à-tête, feel free to reach out to her at promita033@gmail.com.
Facebook Comments