Girl,Interrupted

A girl is fine to be having fun with. But girls,two or more of them,just having fun,actually conversing intelligibly,laughing companionably? What is that? The two girls whove managed to break the mould,giving us some joy in the process,are Veronica and Meera in Cocktail. They succeed as credible characters most when they are,you know,just hanging together,sharing space,making each other giggle. These are gals just doing the thing so many of us do in real life,the normal everyday stuff,which makes us who we are. And the fact is,by doing so,Veronica and Meera do not become like us,with our zits and splotchy skin and not-perfectly-fitted-jeans: they remain who they are,silver screen goddesses with their impossibly long legs,impossibly toned tummies,and glorious tumbling locks. But,and this is the crucial thing,they still come off as real girls,those who might conceivably have bad hair days,some days of their life.

Its when they become a trio that Veronica and Meera,played by model-fit lassies Deepika Padukone and Diana Penty,lose steam. Saif Ali Khans very-pleased-with-himself-Gautam,whose prime focus seems to be chasing skirts,becomes the object of their adoration,and before you know it,these two girls turn into people we can barely recognise. DP One,who is not scared of embracing her wild tigress side in full public view drinking,snorting,sleeping around suddenly becomes a kitten,who wants to be petted so that she can purr contentedly. DP Two,who started off by being too straight for her own good,and who loosens up only when she is with Veronica,becomes even more of a drip.

Why does the film,which was doing so well in creating fresh,believable characters,go into reverse gear? Not so hard to twig. Bollywood is still too petrified of real,flesh-and-blood girls. Its so much simpler to put them into saris which start so low on the waist as to be gravity-defying,or a clingy lehenga,or a tight choli strapless if we are being modern: that way,we get the kamariya to sway and a shapely navel for free. The camera swoops up and down,and in between,and theres your Bollywood girl. Who has,before her,two options.

Cover up. Top to toe. Just a hint of cleavage will do,when the pallu slips. The playful sarkana of the pallu is now a lost art,something that the yesteryear lovelies of Hindi cinema could do with such ease: I cant imagine todays Bolly babes being able to do that without looking silly; at best they can let their pallu fall. Its all of a piece with not letting the audience do any hard work. If the girl has all her clothes on,or even if she starts with tarty ripped jeans and then switches to salwar-kameez,she is safe,and cuddly,and worthy of being taken home to mummy. You see this girl,and you know who she is.

Take it all off. Option number two is the refuge of the girl who has nothing to lose. Her izzat is long gone,so now theres no shame. We know,the moment we catch sight of this one,that this is the one who will be poked,prodded,thrown jibes at. Again,no brainer. All flesh,no raiment makes Jill and Jyoti girls you dont have to worry about,because they are going to end badly anyway.

The problem arises when the girl is neither safe nor sorry. She just is. A character who,horrors,has a layer or two,over or beneath her clothes. She does things because she wants to,not because she has to. She doesnt start walking as if shes on a catwalk just because a man is looking at her: she walks as if she owns the road because thats what she feels like doing. As also shooting the breeze with a female friend,because the man is such a dull creature.

One Veronica or Meera is not exactly going to change things drastically. One sparrow,or even two,is not going to release a flood of girls who have volition,or vantage,or agency. But their presence in a mainstream movie is an indication that it can be done. What if the two of them had dumped the man,and walked into the sunset,hand in hand? Hold that thought.

shubhra.gupta expressindia.com