The Indian James Bond

I watched the film ‘Gadar- Ek Prem Katha’ with a fairly religious family, my uncle’s. With their namaaz, roza, majlis background, they could well be the kind who would respond to the call of the hinterlands and say they were angry. But they found nothing objectionable at all. Sensing my silence at the end of the show, Maamu asked, “So, what do you think?”

How could I tell him that although I was so unlike them, from the first scene itself I was made aware that I was a Muslim and had to squirm because of it? Would my saying so shatter all their dreams of belonging to the mainstream? Would they start wondering about my liberalism? Would they too start thinking whether I was Indian enough? And would the ‘hurt psyche’ accusation be hurled against me by my very own?

I was not a film star who could arrange for photographers to land up at the cinema hall and be splashed on the front pages of the national dailies and then have the audacity to write that the film was provocative but that did not mean one could take away the filmmaker’s right to have a say. I am glad I am not Shabana Azmi, for my secularism is so internalised that it does not have to depend on mouthing clichés of quami and commie ekta to save my political, social and professional skin. Besides, we still do not know what she found provocative.

So I will tell you what I found objectionable, disgusting and a distortion of history. When one heard about the hordes vandalizing movie halls, it did seem like an over-reaction. If it was done as a means to garner publicity for the film, then it only shows that the so-called progressive people are the ones who will stoop low enough to fan the fires, and at the same time consolidate the viewpoint that Muslims are an intolerant, ‘garam khoon’ lot. However, if it was a genuine reaction from the ‘lumpens’, then I must say that they sense subliminal messages with greater alacrity than the reasonable people. Admitted, there is nothing overtly anti-Muslim at all. But, whatever be its celluloid merits or demerits, ‘Gadar’ is a dangerous film. Its intent is quite clear – to create an authentic James Bond fighting an enemy state. At every level this is emphasised.

The ‘prem katha’, love story, itself is a sham, a ruse to show the woman (the metaphorical Other) her true place. She is saved, her honour restored, not by her own people, but by James Bond, Tara Singh. And her acceptance is peaceful only because she converts without any questions asked; there is no force applied. We have the Indian generosity of spirit and appeasement in full glory here. Sakina could well be an orphaned state (Kashmir?) caught in the tug-of-war.

Or just another Muslim. Again, acceptance is conditional when Tara tells her that he would marry only someone who can cook for him, minister to his needs (‘seva’) and if she goes beyond the boundaries set by him, she will also get a slap or two (“do thapad kha legi”). And she, with pleading tearful eyes, says yes, she will do all of these things. Now we know where the Mussalman stands in the mainstream.

If you think I am intellectualising a simple man-woman relationship, then look at the way the process of conversions is handled. When Tara Singh crosses the border to go and claim his captive ladylove (incidentally, the message conveyed is that Pakistan is a prison), his probable acceptance into their fold becomes a battle of wits, for we are being told that the quasi jehadis are not ready for peace, unlike the Indians who welcomed Sakina as one of their own. So, while a crowd has gathered, Tara Singh is asked whether he will convert. He agrees. That should have been sufficient. But, no. We can come across as superior only by showing others as inferior and we do that by accusing them of this flaw! Therefore, he is asked to say “Islam zindabad”; he does. “Say Pakistan zindabad”, they taunt him. He does that as well. (Note: as opposed to the conversion of Sakina in a matter-of-fact, taken-for-granted manner, Tara Singh’s trial is to showcase Islam as a cruel proselytizing religion.) Finally, to push him on the edge, he is prodded to say, “Hindustan murdabad”. Naturally, he protests and rightly asks why if he can wish Pakistan well it must necessarily mean wishing doom upon his country. Fair enough.

My objection is to the level of Indian insecurity revealed here. We know that Pakistan obsesses over us, but this clearly shows that we reciprocate. An ordinary truck driver starts talking with great authority about politics. He quotes the RSS line when he gloats about the Rs. 65 crore India gave Pakistan during the Partition. He talks about there being more Muslims in India who think of it as their motherland. This, incidentally, is the only time there is any mention in a political/social context of the largest minority in India. We do not see any visible Muslims, except for the tamed dependent heroine. The Muslim identity is given short shrift throughout, and the lone Sakina has no clear ‘religious’ persona. In fact, when she is trying to escape with her family to Lahore, she grabs a model of the Golden Temple gifted to her by a “Yamla Jat” (illiterate villager) in a show of how the Utopia is not the one that is being created but what she is being forced to leave behind. Therefore, when she finds love (refuge, really), it is not with just a poor man. An idyll is created of a lovely village with smiling relatives.

Contrast this with the family she lost to Pakistan. They are wealthy, but feudal, with anal-retentive expressions; they seem not to have digested the fact that they are now separate. So, even family celebrations come with a public mujra, performed to Indian classical music, with someone commenting about the difference. No attempt is made to underline the fact that many stalwarts of the gharanas happen to be Muslim and some crossed over to the other side. It is a strange way of telling us that only the rich could make homes there, and all the poor Muslims were left here and must be eternally indebted to India for protecting them, and it supposedly does this rather well.

Which is why when the Pakistani crowd rushes towards Tara Singh, he single-handedly fights them and manages to take his family away. This prompts Akhtar, the mohajir turned mayor, to declare in loud tones, “Ek Jat ne tum sabko hijra bana diya”. Is this how we can make ourselves feel better -- by belittling another country?

I also feel that using a Jat protagonist instead of a Hindu is a smart move to co-opt the Sikhs. It is being conveyed that in secular India nuns can move to the beat of a ‘chavvani’ folk song, knowing that their convents will always keep a section of the population in good humour, making the Christians legitimate; Sikhs do not feel any different from the rest of India because they have the trump card of Punjab. Even the ‘living by the sword’ is justified, as Tara Singh’s ‘victim of violence’ stance is expressed eloquently whereas the ‘talwaar’ in the other hand is clearly seen as a symbol of terror: “Hindustaniyon, kaatna humse seekho”, screams the graffiti in blood red.

The only Muslim portrayed as a victim is victimised by her own people – be it her snotty family, or the gypsy woman who gyps her of her jewels in return for temporary shelter. No wonder Sakina chooses the bigger, better, brighter option of India.

The funny thing is that by showing a mad man in Pakistan at this particular time holding aloft the Indian flag to say “Hum azaad ho gaye” and singing “Saare jahaan se achcha”, ‘Gadar’ only tells us how pathetic some of us can be that we need to be victorious over a small country to even today be considered free.

I do hope after this summit meeting we get ourselves an ego-massage. We need it desperately.