One could see the chirpy, talented dancer being subdued slowly and surely, till she turned into a shell of her former self. She yearned to work and create an identity for herself, but was repeatedly reminded that by virtue of being a doctor’s wife, she didn’t “need” to venture beyond the kitchen. Her work of being a dance instructor was looked down upon as a mere hobby, an unstable source of income. Moreover, she was urged to model her doctorate mother-in-law, who gave up her dreams to rear her children decades ago!
One of my favourite thinkers of contemporary times, Dr Brené Brown, often talks about the hostility of untapped potential. “Unused creativity isn’t benign. It metastasises. It lives with us until it’s expressed, neglected to death, or suffocated by resentment and fear,” she says emphatically. Either of the outcomes is heart-wrenching.
Countless women lose themselves to marriage. The problem lies not in immersing oneself in domesticity, but the lack of agency in having the freedom to choose it. The urge to work could stem from the need to be financially independent, to have a sense of worth, particularly when children have flown from the nest, for self-esteem, to explore one’s potential, to have a life outside of the daily drudgery that inadvertently accompanies domestication.
As the movie progressed, the protagonist decides to walk out of the marriage, and goes back to where she came from: Her parents’ home. She is cajoled to forget about everything, her struggles are trivialised, but like any good Bollywood movie (and unlike real life), the protagonist holds her own, and begins a new chapter: As a divorcee and a dance instructor.
I found myself and so many like me vociferously cheering for her. On reflection, it made me wonder why we do not root for ourselves as passionately as we do for stars on the silver screen? Just like we urge for the protagonist to do what is right for her from the edge of our seats, why won’t we do it for our own selves? What would we tell ourselves if we saw ourselves as the protagonists of our own movie? Would we continue to make the choices we make?
If this movie triggered you, feel the anger, let it simmer and rise to the surface. And then distill it to its purest form and make it your source of strength. Channelise it for advocacy, for standing up to tyrants, steer it for the pursuit of justice. I know of a friend who used her anger to pick up the pen and bled herself dry on paper. I know of another friend who built a career atop the barbs that came her way. I know of a lovely woman who used her cleaning supplies to scrub off the Lakshman Rekha that forbade her, and for so many after her. This anger healed them, and it will heal society, one Mrs at a time. Urdu poet Asarul Haq Majaz shows the way:
“Tere māthe pe ye āñchal bahut hī ḳhuub hai lekin
tū is āñchal se ik parcham banā letī to achchhā thā.
(That veil on your head is beautiful, but it would have been better if you had turned it into a flag).”
The writer is a Canada-based freelance contributor and can be reached at seeratsandhu25@yahoo.com
