Anaarkali of Aarah: In Swara Bhaskar film, the subaltern speaks

Anaarkali of Aarah is not bothered about this narrative of being the ‘other’ even as it is released in a Hindi language dominated industry. Bhaskar brings Anaar to life not just with her thumke but also with her flawless language. The film doesn’t make an effort to disprove the stereotypes and portrays them all as they are without patronising them.

Anaar and her manipulation of the male gaze is the other strong aspect of the film. She knows she can never completely escape the gaze; so she flaunts her sexuality as and when and how she pleases. Anaar dresses up every time she goes out, sometimes for others but mostly for herself. Whether she’s going to buy lipstick or whether she’s a wreck in a new city, eating at a small restaurant, only Anaar decides how she looks.

Anaar doesn’t use make-up just for a performance. Make-up is her strength. Every time she puts on the lipstick, she is out to face the world. In the recent series Riverdale which is a reimagination of the Archies Comics world, there is a point when the cowed down and mentally harassed Betty stands up to her mother and vows to stand up for herself by applying a fiery red coloured lipstick. Her mother breaks her momentary confidence by wiping it out and she goes back to being submissive – only to return with full make-up and full confidence. It is a small moment in the show but beauty products that have been apparently used for covering up flaws of women have become elements of power as more women choose the way they want to look, giving them agency – what they have never been given.

The other fascinating element of the film were the beautifully crafted ‘lewd’ songs that Anaar owns to the last note. From ‘Zara ghisla’ to ‘Randi ki na’, the songs covered pleasure as well as protest. Clean protests with rhyming slogans is easy and Anaarkali of Aarah ditches the banners and slogans very pointedly. There are two scenes when the morcha against these songs appears. The first time Anaar disses it, the second time she calls them but involves them in her style of protest.

The songs graze the line between erotica and vulgarity; they have extremely suggestive lyrics that sometimes don’t even hide themselves in innuendos. For Anaar, however, the songs were her art, her identity and she had complete agency over them. Anaar’s unshakable belief in her talent and her art helped her strut with pride throughout the film. She commanded respect with her art – Hariman was a wonderful example of this. The violation of her body also resulted in her art being taken away. Like Richa Chaddha’s character Devi in Masaan, who remains unfazed after the police raid and doesn’t show shame for the incident, Anaar too doesn’t hide her face in shame after being violated. She wants the culprit be punished but in the time of adversity, she needed her art to help her back on her feet not just monetarily but also to regain her identity. The poignant moment right at the end, when Anaar stops walking, ponders just for a second and starts again with the spring in her step, the audience knows she has her dignity back in the form of her art.

Done on purpose or not, the film is also a glaring testament to who has access to public spaces. Wherever Anaar goes, hordes of men surround her even as she walks confidently among them. On the stage, Anaar manipulates them but off it, she is but a woman making headway in a man’s world. At the end of the film, Anaar walks in the dead of night, supposedly the most unsafe time of the day for women; Anaar finds herself walking away from oppression. She was her own saviour.

The courtroom drama Pink finally brought the discussion on consent to the drawing room but it did so with an overarching male voice at the helm and helpless females rescued by him. Anaarkali of Aarah shuts down that voice. The film makes sure the subaltern speaks, loudly on the mic, in the language they prefer.