Vol. 2 No. 1 (2022)
‘Colour’ing the Rainbow: Exploring the Intersectionality of
Caste and Class in Geeli Pucchi
Neethu
Das K.
This article briefly explores the caste politics visible in
the queer relationship represented in the movie Geeli Pucchi (Sloppy Kisses), the third film
in the Netflix anthology film Ajeeb Daastaans (Untold Stories, Hindi, 2021). The article
attempts to discuss how the plurality of queer identities is generally erased
and appropriated as a global ‘gay’ identity which is rich, cis, male and savarna in Indian representations on same sex love. The two
active trajectories of Queer Movement which are assimilational
and oppositional in certain Indian queer representations as the case studies
are examined, focusing on Geeli Pucchi. It can be argued that Indian Queer Movement,
which is necessarily against the right wing, Hindutva politics can be seen
upholding the same value system by reflecting the Brahmanic
and patriarchal propaganda in Literature. By presenting certain examples from
Indian representations of same sex love, the paper would substantiate the above
arguments. The paper would study Geeli Pucchi as a movie which explored the everyday banality of
same sex relationships in India, at the same time critiquing in a political perspective.
Keywords: Caste, Cinema, Identity,
Representation, Sexuality
This article will briefly
explore the caste politics visible in the Queer relationship represented in the
film Geeli Pucchi
(Sloppy Kisses), the third film in the Netflix anthology film Ajeeb Daastaans
(Untold Stories, Hindi, 2021). Geeli Pucchi is directed by Neeraj Ghaywan
and stars Konkona Sen Sharma and Aditi Rao Hydari in lead roles. The article attempts to discuss how
the plurality of queer identities is generally erased and appropriated as a
global ‘gay’ identity which is rich, cis, male and savarna
in Indian representations of same-sex love. It can be argued that the Indian
Queer Movement, which is necessarily against right-wing, Hindutva politics, is
sometimes seen to uphold the same value system by reflecting the Brahminic and
patriarchal propaganda in literary and cultural representations. The article briefly
describes the caste politics existing in Indian queer representations and
points out Geeli Pucchi as a
cultural representation of queer life in India which explore the everyday
banality of same-sex relationships in
India, at the same time critiquing it from a political perspective.
Representations of queer lives and queer relationships are often reduced to fit
within generalised frameworks that appropriate and
resonate with the reflections of the caste and class-driven mainstream society.
The attempts of the queer movement to get assimilated into the mainstream
society and the outsider view of the oppressed queer lives often bring out an
attempt to project the singular queer identity as cis, rich, savarna, gay male. The paper would give a brief note of the
historical background of the counter resistances within Queer movement, and
look into the Indian milieu, connecting to the text Geeli Pucchi.
Contextualisation
and History
Several counter-movements and
counter representations have resisted the power hierarchy and dehistoricisations existing in queer representations.
Though the active subcultures like the black queer movement contribute much to
the expansion of knowledge in the queer intellectual sphere, there was always
an organised attempt to erase or dehistoricise
the presence of these movements. The sexuality of the Harlem Renaissance
intellectuals is not mentioned in many historiographies as mainstream thinkers
consider it to be ‘irrelevant’ while discussing intellectual history. In fact,
American same sex literary practices thrived during the period through black
queer writers like Alain Leroy Locke, Langston Hughes, Countee
Cullen, Wallace Thurman, Claude McKay. Leonard Harris in Alain. L. Locke: The Biography of a Philosopher points references
to a note Alain Locke wrote in October 1949. In the note, Locke laments how his
race, sexuality, and physical stature minoritised him
by his fellow intellectual society and mentions how he was discriminated than
an average gay man because he was also black (18-19). These active subcultures
are forcefully sidelined by negating the plurality of identities in history.
This ‘dehistoricising’
effort is also seen in the narratives on the Stonewall riots, which is a
milestone in the queer liberation movement worldwide. The Stonewall riots was
an uprising in 1969 against the state violence by the inmates of Stonewall Inn,
Greenwich, a low-key bar. The regular inmates included people from transgender,
transvestite, gay, lesbian communities, sex workers and non-queer black people.
But the mainstream narratives on the event erased the presence of people of colour and trans people in the riots, which is evident in the
film Stonewall (2015). Marsha. P.
Johnson, a black trans women and drag queen, reportedly threw the brick at a
police officer, which resulted in the uprising. Most of the protesters were
people of colour as they were the regular inmates who
patronised the Stonewall Inn. But in the film Stonewall, the character of Marsha is
appropriated by Danny Winters, a white gay man. The director of the film Roland
Emmerich considers the uprising a ‘white event’ (Reynolds). Myles. E. Johnson writes
in Medium that “The Stonewall Riots
could only be started by someone who was tired and black”. Myles notes how the
gay movement has become white, rich, cis, male, and places like the Stonewall
Inn have become inaccessible to people like Marsha, who played vital roles in
the liberation.
Indian Milieu
In Indian public sphere also, caste is often presented as a matter
which is hushed in the queer movements. Dalit queer life is marginalised,
misrepresented, or not represented in the ‘progressive,’ queer-friendly
circles. There is a notable silence about caste intersectionality, especially
the discrimination faced by the Dalit queer individuals. The privileges enjoyed
by a ‘savarna’/upper caste queer subject are
generally projected as the Indian queer experience while the discrimination
faced by a Dalit queer subject gets neglected. Raj Rao portrays the
intersectionality of caste and sexuality in his novel The Boyfriend (2003), which is the first gay novel in Indian
English literature. In the novel, the Brahmin protagonist Yudi
declares to his Dalit boyfriend, Milind:
‘Homos are no different from Bhangis. Both are Untouchables.
So why should I have a problem eating your jootha?’
‘But you are a Brahman,
aren’t you?’
‘No, I am a homosexual. Gay
by caste. Gay by religion.’ (RP 35%)
Such generalised statements on an
imagined collective identity of the queer people by Yudi
homogenises queer identities neglecting the caste and
class privileges enjoyed by a minor section of queer people in India. The
exposure available to an occidentalized Indian gay
man which includes gay magazines, gay matrimonial advertisements, gay pubs, and
other gay gatherings remains alien to gay men like Milind who belongs to a
working-class and Dalit background.
Documentary filmmaker Rajesh
James comments that “Vidya who is the author of I am Vidya, the story writer of the award-winning film, Naanu Avanalla Avalu (I Am Not
He, But She) is not much a figure in the public sphere because of her Dalit
background. Trans activists who hail from a dominant caste background are more
invited to public functions.” Gee Imaan Semmalar, a queer activist who hails from the Nair
community, remarks in his article “Between Victimising
and Patronising” about the caste politics in queer
representations:
The media always focuses on the stories of those with
privileges of caste, language and class. Even as I write against the depictions
of us in media, I am complicit because I know my voice will be heard and my
words will be published because of my privileges which translate into access”.
While discussing the discrimination and upper caste politics
existing in the queer representations, the politics backed by the queer
movements and circles in ostracising the members of
the queer community who do not belong to savarna identities should also be
examined. Vijayarajamallika, a Dalit transactivist,
says,
Being from the Dalit category is a boon as well as a curse
in my experience and observation. For once, we do not have anything much to
lose unlike the others (queers from the dominant castes)…
it is a curse as our caste and colour make us less
welcome even inside our community although they never say it. (qtd. in Aryat 108)
Indian researchers like Dhiren Borisa
and Dhrubo Jyoti note that visibility as a queer in
Indian queer spaces is a privilege enjoyed only by a specific group of people
who belong to the upper caste and class sections in Indian society. They
further elaborate,
If space is heterosexual and one needs to continuously
resist it, one needs to realise that it is also casteist especially when talking in an Indian context. . . . What we intend to spell out is that visibility
itself is a privilege, which a certain class with accessibility enjoys. What we
also intend to add is that how this privilege guided by other privileges that
accompany visibility that of caste, of being a man, of belonging to a certain
race and having a language defines whose voice will be heard and what will be
the nature of the demands of the queer discourse in a glocal
space. For us, in India this has resulted in voices of certain class-caste
bodies as representative of queerness, making many other voices silent. (30)
History of Hindi queer cinema
Hindi cinema, like any other
cultural platform, has portrayed homophobic and transphobic plots through the
portrayal of stereotyped one-dimensional queer characters for comic reliefs.
The audience deciphered the identity of queer characters through their
feminine-presenting, flashy dressing, misogyny, foppishness, isolation, etc.;
and the characters were mostly presented from the perspectives of the cisheteronormative majority. Pushpinder
Kaur opines about this queerphobic history of Indian cinema,
LGBT characters in Queer Hindi cinema bear the burden of
crude jokes and are generally shown as objects of ridicule. During the
so-called ‘Golden Era’ of Hindi Cinema, i.e. the period from mid 50s to mid 60s, LGBT characters were generally shown as companions
to heroines or hero. Some of the actors, would cross dress deliberately in an
attempt to evoke laughter. Commercial Hindi Cinema has a long tradition of
having comic sequences or songs featuring cross-dressing male stars. ‘Mere Angane mein’ number from the 1981
super hit Lawaaris, where Amitabh Bachchan crossdressed as woman to be mistaken as a eunuch; Rishi
Kapoor crossdressed in 1975’s Rafoo Chakkar. It was the late comedian
Mehmood who, for the first time, represented eunuchs in a respectable manner in
his blockbuster Kunwara Baap. (27)
Ruth Vanita remarks that popular
films enjoy an iconic status among gay and lesbian subcultures in India even
though explicit references to homosexuality have been largely absent from
mainstream commercial films (qtd. in Ramesh 67). Portrayals of drag queen
culture, homosociality, and same-sex female
friendships gradually represented queer culture in Indian cinema. The portrayal of the queer in the Indian film
narratives is categorised into five by Sachin Ramesh. The five stages/categories include a)
portrayal of transvestite and camp characters b) portrayal of Bromance/ Dostana, which did not explicitly discuss same-sex love,
but apparently portrayed homosociality c) out of the
closet films which presented the crisis is queer relationships d) Indian queer
cinema of the diaspora e) explicit queer cinema. Deepa Mehta’s film Fire (1998) which portrayed the
relationship between two women in an Indian household, created calamities in
the Indian public sphere and probably marked the formation of the first public
queer collective against Indian moral panic, that tried to moralise
and misrepresent queer lives.
Public representation of the
queer was viewed
against Indian culture and as a ‘Western import.’ The religious
fundamentalists protested against Fire,
remarking it as an attack on the original value system of Indian culture and
society by invading Western culture. The film was instrumental in triggering
various debates on the larger questions of gender and same-sex love. Queer
activists came forward with the evidence from the sculptures of Khajuraho and
the Indian classical book on love, Kama
Sutra, to prove that same-sex love was always and already a part of Indian
culture. Through the screening of Fire
and the controversies, it brought to the public sphere, the discourse on
lesbian relationships formed an ally among feminists, free speech protestors
and lesbian women. However, the resulting headlines primarily focused on free
speech and censorship, while the question of lesbian subjectivity got
side-lined. Though it was Fire that
openly discussed lesbian relationship in Hindi cinema, female homosociality and the slippage between female homosociality and homoeroticism was always there. Gayatri
Gopinath cites the examples of Subhah (1981), Ustav (1984), and points out the popular Hindi films Hum Aapke Hain Kaun and Gehri Chaal as examples of films that portray instances of
the erotic interplay between women. She remarks,
Clearly, neither scene is purely transgressive of conventional
gender and sexual hierarchies; in Gehri Chaal, the erotic interplay between the women is
literally a prelude to the primary narrative of heterosexual courtship and
domesticity, while in Hum Aapke the cross-dressed woman seems to merely hold the
place of the ‘‘real’’ hero until he can make his entrance, and indeed hold in
place the hierarchical gendered relations in the scene. Hum Aapke’s
brief interlude of gender reversal and implied female homoeroticism seems to
locate the film within Chris Straayer’s definition of
the ‘‘temporary transvestite film,’’ those which ‘‘offer spectators a
momentary, vicarious trespassing of society’s accepted boundaries for gender
and sexual behavior. Yet one can relax confidently in the orderly
[heterosexual] demarcations reconstituted by the film’s endings.’’ Indeed, both
these films can afford such transparent renderings of female homoerotic desire
precisely because they remain so thoroughly convinced of the hegemonic power of
their own heterosexuality. However, the fact that gender reversal in Hum Aapke
occurs within a space of female homosociality renders
the implied homoeroticism of the scene explicit to both the characters and the
film’s audience, and as such makes it eminently available for a queer diasporic
viewership.
The queer relationship was portrayed as something that needs
to be deciphered by the audience or something which was often hushed up behind
the curtains. Geeli Pucchi, the
third film in the recent Netflix anthology film Ajeeb Daastaans (2021), opens to the Indian
public sphere an opportunity to explore the intersectionality between caste and
sexuality through the lead protagonists and the relationship between them. Geeli Pucchi is not
the first Indian film or Bollywood film which depicts queer relationships. My Brother Nikhil (2005), Bombay Talkies (2013), Aligarh (2015), Kapoor and Sons (2016), Ek Ladki
Ko Dekha Toh Aisa Laga (How I felt when I
saw that girl, 2019), Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (Be extra careful of marriage, 2020), Badhaai Do (Felicitations Due, 2022) are some
of the recent Bollywood films which portrayed queer relationships. All these
films focus on presenting the identity crisis faced by the queer individuals,
portraying the issues of self-acceptance, family acceptance and societal
acceptance. Rather than exploring the queer relationship and its different
layers, these films portray the relationship between the queer individual and
the society or family. The Supreme Court of India’s 2018 verdict which decriminalised same-sex relationships gave more political
visibility and cultural solidarity to queer relationships in the Indian public
sphere.
The film Ek Ladki ko dekha to aisa laga (2019), starring
Sonam Kapoor and Anil Kapoor and directed by Shelly Chopra Dhar, resisted several social norms through
the outright and precise representation of a lesbian relationship. The film
portrays the relationship between two women, which is unacceptable for their
families and unveils
crises thereafter. The film’s scriptwriter is Ghazal Dhaliwal, a
queer activist who is active in vocalising the issues
faced by queer community in the Indian public sphere. The title of the film Ek Ladki ko dekha to aisa laga
meaning “How I felt when I saw that girl” is a line from the popular Hindi song
from the film 1942: A Love Story
(1994). The song is a very popular romance song familiar to the Indian audience
and is remembered as the nostalgic collective memorial of Bollywood romance.
The film, by using this popular Bollywood love song in its title, retells and
subverts the familiar popular Bollywood romance equation. The film also
connects same-sex love to the matrix of marriage which is predominantly marked
by its heteronormative nature in India. The majoritarian nature of marriage and
highlighting it as the key issue of queer politics have always been contested
by queer academicians and theorists. The social issue of gay and lesbian
marriage always diverts the queer cause to the equations of caste, class, and
power within the community, which are not often inclusive. The trend of caste
tropes masquerading into same-sex relationships and performing a mimicry of the
stereotyped cisheteronormative, loveless, unequal
relationships need to be interrogated in the questions related to inclusivity
in queer spaces.
Queer Politics in Geeli Pucchi
While Ek Ladki Ko Dekha to Aisa Laga
presented the one-dimensional acceptance crisis
faced by a queer person in an Indian household, Geeli Pucchi digs deep further to find the
other social undercurrents that play crucial roles in deciding the future of
queer relationships in India. Along with breaking the heteronormative
structures of Indian cinema and subverting the ideal woman myth through the
portrayal of two flawed women who are expressive about their identity, the film
also investigates the reality of caste politics in India, which is decisive in
a queer relationship, hushed up behind the curtains. The relationship between
Bharti and Priya traverses the heteronormative cinema consumer within the
politics of caste, sexuality, power, privilege and visibility.
The film Geeli Pucchi explores the relationship between
two women, Bharti Mandal and Priya Sharma, who represent two cross-sections in
society. The film breaks the norms of queer coding practised
in Bollywood films by directly revealing the sexuality of Bharti. The prescribed structure of Bollywood films
is seemingly resonated in Geeli Pucchi when Bharti meets Priya in a totally conflicting
position, and soon the anger turns to love. The film is from the perspective of
Bharti, who understands the privileged caste identity of Priya, and the
difference between the women is evident to the spectator. Bharti Mandal, a
factory employee, is devoid of all the stereotyped attributes of femininity.
Bharti, who works with men, and does tedious tasks is always surrounded by men.
Some of her male colleagues make fun of her because of the visible absence of
‘feminine traits’ in her. Priya, the new employee in the factory, meets Bharti
when she picks up a fight with her male co-worker. Priya enters the troupe as a
visibly feminine person. The saree-clad Priya tends to Bharti’s wounds. It is
revealed that Bharti was denied a higher position in the factory, despite her
qualifications because of her caste. Priya swoops into the position because she
belongs to a privileged caste, though she is not technically qualified or
skilled enough. Priya, who follows the norms of a well-mannered and well
behaved ‘eternal feminine’ befriends Bharti, who tells Priya that she is Bharti
Banerjee. They share a private moment, and Bharti understands that Priya is a
closeted lesbian. Priya hints at her interest in Bharti here and there and
shares her memories of her best friend Kavita, who parted ways after she got
married. It is also revealed that Bharti had a past affair, whose memories are
still close to her. On her birthday, Priya confesses to Bharti that she cannot
love her husband though he is a good man. Bharti advises Priya to accept the
truth, and she confesses to Priya that she belongs to the Mandal community.
In the ambience of a romantic
relationship, the film suddenly gets problematised
with the discourse of caste. The multiple layers of caste and sexuality present
the relationship as complex and problematic in the film. The film posits two
significant ‘coming outs’ in a queer relationship in India, that of the queer
identity and caste identity. Though Bharti’s queer identity, which is
suppressed by the heteronormative society, is accepted by Priya; she cannot
accept her partner to be from Mandal community. Here, Priya is mimicking the
heteronormative standards of relationship in her same-sex relationship as well.
Priya is conscious of her caste privilege, and she slowly expresses
discrimination towards Bharti after Bharti confesses her caste identity. The
first responsible secret of Priya’s sexuality that Bharti asked to embrace is
overthrown by the larger secret, the caste difference. The film tries to depict
the fact that in the conjunction of multiple realities, the social reality of
caste is the primary trajectory. The film director, Neeraj Ghaywan
opines that the film expresses the duality of patriarchy and caste hegemony
(qtd. in Roy). The average Indian queer who experiences the everyday patriarchy
housed in a heterosexual relationship through the monarchy of caste in their
intimacy moves out of the relationship. Thus, the film emphasises
that caste is equally significant in a queer relationship. As the closeted,
multi-layered sexuality and queer identity are explored in the heteronormative,
morally panicked society, the expression is hindered by the peripheral
superstructure of the caste system in India. “Bharti and Priya both explore
their mutual admiration for each other, but the way they experience their
sexuality is different. That reflects how one’s queerness is shaped by their
caste and caste is influenced by their queerness” (Das).
Bharti’s masculinity is
equally problematic as the relationship follows the pattern of a heterosexual
relationship where masculinity and femininity are compartmentalised.
The masculine presenting gender expression of Bharti Mandal is shown as a
justification used by the film to authenticate the queer relationship between
Bharti and Priya. Here, Bharti is seen to wear the performative mask of the
masculine gender, which can be framed as an attempt to mainstream the marginalised queer relationship. This is a stereotype that
is often repeated in cultural, literary representations of queer relationships
in the Indian public sphere, which is to be problematised.
The masculine performativity of Bharti is used as a substitute to replace the
absence of the heterosexual male in the queer equation. The reinforcement of
the ‘butch-femme’ stereotype through the performative masculinity of Bharti as
well as the casting of Konkana Sharma to play the
role of Bharti is called out by feminist critics. Sudipta
Das reviews it:
The comprehension of messy feelings seems more complex when
someone sees the story from inside the caste-sexuality marginalisation.
Being a Dalit-Queer person myself, it’s difficult to let go of the oblivious
representation of the people which it promises to empathise
with. It fails to meet the mark as it again casts an upper-class cis-het actor
for a queer-Dalit role, reinforces the ‘butch lesbian’ stereotypes, it
constantly perpetuates the trope to the audience that the Dalit protagonist is
meritorious and hence deserves dignity.
Priya’s caste privilege is paralleled by her marital status
in the patriarchy, which limits her choices. This is contrasted by Bharti’s
sense of liberty in her personal choices, paralleled by the caste oppression
she faces. This duality resolves the untold, enigmatic choices made by the
women in this relationship. While Priya chooses caste as a marker to avoid
Bharti from the relationship, Bharti uses motherhood as a weapon to defend
Priya. Bharti suggests sarcastically that becoming a mother will fulfil her
life. Bharthi repeatedly suggests this to Priya’s
mother-in-law, who calls Bharti -‘Bharti Mandal’ and
remembers her caste’s vocation of midwifery. Bharti uses this as a potential
opportunity to get back her position in the company, which she should have been
offered, but denied because of her caste identity. Here, the identity that ostracised Bharti works to problematize Priya’s marginalised position as a married woman. Bharti lectures
on the value of motherhood to Priya’s patriarchal family, thus mocking her
confined status in society, totally understanding that motherhood and married
life are against Priya’s choice. Bharti, who was discriminated by Priya and the
fellow society makes use of this point to avenge against the discrimination she
has experienced. Bharti’s revenge is also against Priya whose love was
conditional. The transformation of Priya’s love to indifference as soon as she
understands Bharti’s caste identity and the revenge of Bharti, who is the only
one who knows Priya’s queer identity, are the winning screenplay moments from
the film.
The film depicts the
intricate relationship between caste and queer identity in Indian society. It
breaks the usual queer coding present in Hindi cinema; instead, it outrightly vocalises the identity of the queer characters. Also,
instead of focusing on the identity crisis of the queer subject and the
family’s acceptance, Geeli Pucchi expanded
its universe to the discourses of caste, which is peculiar to Indian society.
The film confirms that caste plays a decisive role even in inclusive spaces
where equality and inclusivity are discussed. Additionally, the film presents
the reality of the closeted lesbian who is married to a patriarchal household.
In such a way, Geeli Pucchi
dismantles the cultural and social ideals in representing queer relationships
in the Indian public sphere. But the masculine performativity of Bharti’s
character takes away the charm of the politics of the film. Geeli Pucchi will serve as a prototype to
Indian queer films by discussing the question of caste and investigating the
implicit layers of a relationship in Indian society. In a country like India,
where cinema, especially Bollywood cinema, is influential enough to affect the
perspectives of a significant majority, films like Geeli Pucchi certainly bring a wave of change.
Justifiably, the portrayal of characters like that of Bharti Mandal leaves hope
to the queer community in India, who are denied even fundamental human rights.
***
About the Author: Dr. Neethu Das K. currently
works as an Assistant Professor in the Department of English, St Joseph’s
College for Women, Alappuzha, Kerala. Her areas of research interest include
Queer Theatre, 21 st century Theatre, Culture and
Marginality, Queer representations etc.
***
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