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By:

Shoma A. Chatterji

21 August 2024 at 10:49:40 am

The Pallbearer’s Tragedy

Three decades after its premiere, Rangakarmee’s Mayyat remains a searing theatrical indictment of caste. Rangakarmee is perhaps the only theatre group that has been producing and performing plays in Hindi in Kolkata for 50 years this year. Founded and headed by the late Usha Ganguly, it is still as active and dynamic in presenting Hindi plays mainly new and sometimes recreating for the new audience, old plays that are timeless in their content and their appeal. The amazing feature of Mayyat...

The Pallbearer’s Tragedy

Three decades after its premiere, Rangakarmee’s Mayyat remains a searing theatrical indictment of caste. Rangakarmee is perhaps the only theatre group that has been producing and performing plays in Hindi in Kolkata for 50 years this year. Founded and headed by the late Usha Ganguly, it is still as active and dynamic in presenting Hindi plays mainly new and sometimes recreating for the new audience, old plays that are timeless in their content and their appeal. The amazing feature of Mayyat is that it was first performed by Usha Ganguly and her troupe way back in 1997 and has already performed around 500 shows spanning 30 years and signifies the cross-generational reach and popularity of the play. We saw a group of absolutely new actors dedicated to Rangakarmee. Their performance defined the strict discipline, the constant workouts and rehearsals to keep mobile and flexible because the very big cast needed to be perfect in body, mind and spirit during each 45-minute performance. What does the word Maiyyat mean? It is said to have its roots in Arabic and literally, it translates as ‘dead body’ or ‘corpse.’ The play is rooted in the deep internalization among the low castes of their exploitation and torture by the Brahmins of their village. The Brahmins are proud in their gait, their body language and even in their pure form of dress with the holy thread of Brahminism proudly on display. The custom of the proud, arrogant and rude Brahmins is to choose at least one among the four untouchables to become the pall-bearer when someone of the upper-caste dies. Instead of feeling sad or insulted, the chosen untouchable feels blessed and proud for being allowed by this strange custom of becoming a fake “Brahmin” if even for one day. Lakku is one such untouchable who lives somewhere near Aurangabad and leads a miserable life of poverty with the burden of a mentally deranged, motherless son he takes care of. The pall is decorated heavily with flowers and instead of looking like a bourse, it is decorated with lots of flowers like a palanquin. Someone obviously among the Brahmins is dead and the other Brahmins draw lots to find out which untouchable will be chosen to offer his shoulder to the bourse. `When Lakku’s name comes up in the shuffling of the paper chips, he is thrilled that at least for one day, he will enjoy the ‘blessing’ of becoming a “Brahmin.” But forced to run through the village on an empty stomach and with a weak body, Lakku collapses and dies before the bourse can reach the crematorium. Now, the question is – who will carry his body and carry it to the cremation ground? The entire performance, with 23 theatre actors, originally scripted, designed and directed by Usha Ganguly, is now performed by a new young cast under the guidance, training and supervision of Amal Saha, Deepesh Rajak, and Anirudh Sarkar. It has been conceived and designed like a musical opera with every Brahmin member of the cast, including the young women, dressed traditionally in pristine white with lots of marigold garlands and a sandalwood tikka adorning their foreheads. Though there are dialogues in the performance, these are either among the leading and decisive members among the Brahmins or scoldings and threats from the Brahmins to the four members from the untouchable tribe, each one representing a different low caste. These four men, alongwith Lakku and his mentally retarded son, keep waiting eagerly in one corner of the proscenium for the results of the lots to be drawn. They hug each other for joy when their names are announced and Lakku specially is thrilled with the responsibility of being pallbearer and becoming a Brahmin for just one night. Whose corpse is being carried in the bourse is not important. What is important is who are the pall bearers? At least, the Brahmins are not. What one carries home after watching a performance-play like Mayyat is the marvellous synchronization of the entire female cast wandering right around the proscenium space singing songs in complete harmony with not a note of error and the Brahmin men discussing, arguing and quarrelling over not how the corpse will be cremated but which low-caste man will become the pallbearer for one night. The bottom-line is caste is a continuous, historical evil. But should it remain so? (The writer is a noted film scholar. Views personal.)

Alpha, Alia and the business of female stardom

Mumbai: For all the progress Hindi cinema likes to claim, one uncomfortable truth keeps returning to the surface and that is, the industry still does not know how to build women into lasting theatrical phenomena. Alia Bhatt’s Alpha is only the latest reminder. The mixed reaction to it at the box-office and the negativity on social media has exposed something larger than BO arithmetic. It has reopened the old question of why female-led films in Bollywood are still treated as exceptions and not as part of the mainstream commercial fare.


That question matters because Alia is not an untested performer. In fact, she is one of the most accomplished stars of her generation, with both critical and commercial credibility. She has already shown that she can anchor a film, shape public curiosity and carry emotional complexity with ease. And yet, the moment a project like Alpha enters the market, it is often judged against an unfairly narrow standard of not whether it is good cinema, but whether a woman-led film can ‘open’ like a male-led event film. That context is part of the problem.


While Hindi cinema has always been willing to admire strong women on screen, it has been less willing to consistently pay for them in theatres and that gap shows up long before a film reaches the box office. It shows up in the budget sheet, the release strategy and the number of screens a distributor is willing to risk.


Start with money. Female-led films are routinely marketed on a fraction of what a comparable male-led film receives. Fewer promotional windows, fewer brand tie-ins and fewer high-value trailer drops. A film can be well-reviewed and still walk into its opening weekend with a fraction of the visibility that shapes first-day collections. In an industry where opening numbers set the narrative for a film’s entire run, that is not a small handicap, it is often decisive.


Female Characters

This is not a new issue. The industry has produced unforgettable female characters and a few rare female superstars, but the Indian film system has rarely built sustained institutions around them. The rare exceptions being Meena Kumari, Vyjanthimala, Hema Malini and Sridevi. The last, Sridevi, emerged at a time when economics and number-game started taking precedence in the cinematic evolution of Bollywood. From being the glamourous prop to the hero in Himmatwala (1983) and Tohfa (1984) to having films written around her with Nagina (1986), Mr India (1987), Chandni (1989), Chaalbaaz (1989), Lamhe (1991) and Khuda Gawah (1992), she turned the tables around for heroines and continues to remain the clearest historical example of what a true female star in Indian cinema can look like.


At her peak, Sridevi was not just admired, she was bankable. Films could revolve around her. Her presence changed the energy of a project. In certain films, heroes had to adjust to her command rather than the other way around. That kind of authority was not accidental. It was the result of extraordinary talent meeting a rare moment in the industry’s history when audiences, producers and writers briefly allowed a woman to dominate the frame.


But Sridevi's career also proves the rarity of that model. She remains the benchmark because few actresses after her, not even stars like Madhuri Dixit, Kajol, Aishwarya Rai, Kareena Kapoor or Deepika Padukone, were consistently given the same kind of female-led commercial vehicles. The industry celebrated her, but did not fully institutionalise her kind of stardom. Four decades later, the industry still hasn’t built the pipeline that would allow her successors to go beyond her. Deepika seemed poised to replicate that model before stepping away from it in recent years.

 

Revealing Discussion

That gap is what makes the discussion around Alia and Alpha so revealing. Alia is one of the few contemporary actresses who has repeatedly crossed the boundary between being an actor and star. She has done the intimate, performance-driven roles, such as Highway (2014), Udta Punjab (2016), Raazi (2018) and Gully Boy (2019) that win critical acclaim , and she has also participated in larger commercial ventures that expand her visibility, such as Brahmāstra: Part One – Shiva (2022), RRR (2022), Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (2023), Gangubai Kathiawadi (2022) and Badrinath Ki Dulhania (2017). In theory, she should be exactly the kind of actress around whom a new era of female-led theatrical storytelling can be built. In practice, the industry still seems unsure how to market that proposition with confidence.


Part of the issue lies in the way Hindi cinema packages women-led films. Too often, these projects are framed as either ‘serious’ or ‘special’. They are presented as prestige dramas, social messages or exceptions to the norm. The masculine model of stardom, by contrast, is built on repetition, scale, and genre certainty. Male stars are supported by action, comedy, spectacle and franchise logic. Female stars are still too often limited to emotionally dense dramas or films that must prove their worth before the audience even enters the hall.


Genre gatekeeping also runs deeper than casting. Action franchises, cop universes and multi-part spectacles are almost never designed around a woman from the outset. Actresses get inducted into these worlds as guests in someone else's franchise, not as the anchor of their own. Without a female-led equivalent of a returning franchise, there is no mechanism for an actress's stardom to compound the way a male star's does, film after film.


Feminist Undertones

That’s not to say there were no feminist undertones in Lokah, but they felt organic. Naslen, the film’s hero and other male actors, including superheroes played by superstars Dulquer Salmaan and Tovino Thomas, seemed to be having a blast playing second fiddle to the heroine.


There is also a quieter, upstream problem in the scarcity of women writing and directing stories in Bollywood, barring Farah Khan, Meghna Gulzar and Zoya Akhtar. Lokah, in fact, had actress Santhy Balachandran playing an important role in giving a woman’s perspective to the narrative as the additional screenplay writer and dramaturgist. It is difficult to imagine something similar happening in the male-dominated Hindi film industry, unless the filmmaker happens to be the very conscientious Farhan Akhtar or an Aamir Khan.

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