Bollywood, or the Indian Hindi film industry is the biggest film industry in the world. Its viewership is large crossing all borders, boundaries and what comes out of Bollywood is often taken synonymously as Indian in casual, dominant contexts. This column explores a recent huge blockbuster film that has been deemed a success not just in India but also in its diasporic contexts. Karan Johar’s 2023 blockbuster Rocky aur Rani ki Prem Kahani (Rocky and Rani’s Love Story in translation), is a star studded commercial film that addresses the issue of tradition and modernity by focusing on the Randhawa family with a refurbished trailer and new slogan: soach neyi, swad wohi, meaning, ‘new thought, but in same taste’— in other words, a new bottle (of tantalizing display of wealth and glamor) of old wine (of Bollywood big budget films of wealth and glamor). Most of the present hyped-up Bollywood movies are by default a jumbled-up concoction of themes; Rocky aur Rani is no exception to that trend. But the directorial skill and dazzling performance by an ensemble cast made it possible for some crucial themes to stand out more than other latent ones. The musical enactments of old Hindi songs and the dance performances are magnificent. The use of ‘Kathak’ dance as a symbol of individual aspiration, critique of masculinity and rebellion is simply brilliant. The generous display of designer outfits, big brand cars, and luxurious lifestyle are as always eye-catching and very Bollywoodian. It is a crazy rich Indian version of Crazy Rich Asians, with some differences. It is a movie about the privileged class, a social comedy with a clear focus on some of the burning issues in the Indian context. The list of issues include rape, gender, race, colorism, fat-shaming, domestic abuse, classism, among other things. It tries to give an all-inclusive approach pointing out the cancel culture, ironically while canceling out some important issues.

The movie opens with a strong female presence, introducing Rocky Randhawa’s great grandmother, and then immediately focusing on his grandmother Dhanalakshmi Randhawa, the woman who looked after her paralyzed husband, managed the family business, and singlehandedly trained her son Tijori to be a man. This strong woman of the older tradition is then linked with three other strong woman characters of the Chatterjee family: Jamini Chatterjee, Anjali Chatterjee, and Rani Chatterjee. Both the Randhawa and the Chatterjee family are matriarchal, and in both families, men are either aggressively masculine or socially ‘effeminate’ (of the creative kind). Rani’s father Anjan Chatterjee and Rocky’s grandfather Kanwal Lund fall under the second category, while Rocky’s father and Rani’s deceased grandfather belong to the first category. Rocky, the male protagonist, brings in the possibility of establishing a middle ground by redefining Indian traditional notion of masculinity.

A fierce news reporter, Rani is presented as an epitome of strength from the moment we meet her. In one scene she verbally slashes a political leader during an interview, rebuking him for his misogyny. In the Dhanalakshmi household, she helps Golu and Punam Randhawa find their voice. But this immensely strong woman loses her poise and intentionally drives her car through the wrong way and hits Rocky’s car in a dangerous head on collision, which could have brought fatal outcome (if it happened in the real world). And then, in the climactic scene of the movie, she strikes on the hand of patriarchy, an act that can be considered an assault (if it happened in the real world). Rani Chatterjee’s strength has hidden potentiality of recklessness—something that is more destructive than the strength of Dhanalakshmi Randhawa (as a side note, I want to add that this sudden outburst of uncontrollable anger has become a stereotypical trademark of representing empowered women in almost every Alia Bhatt character in her films).
Jamini Chatterjee’s character has the most nourishing kind of strength. With her mere presence, she can bring back mobility, memory, and desire in a paralyzed man. She can make him jump up on his feet, sing a love song, and become responsive both emotionally and sexually. Now, let’s not forget that this newly rejuvenated man was incapacitated for years, while his wife was burdened with family responsibility. Before his accident, Kanwal lived the life of a devout poet, stayed indifferent to his family, and cheated on his wife (and might have continued cheating on her had he not fallen from the stairs. Thank God!).

Dhanalakshmi is a force of terror in comparison to Jamini. She only knows how to run the house of men and their business. And while performing her role as the holder of tradition, she loses her ‘jhumka’ in the bazaar of patriarchy. The movie has a good number of iconic moments that are worth mentioning here. Rani’s outburst regarding the issue of rape, her altercation with Tijori Randhawa in defense of her family, and her squabble with Dhanalakshmi when she declares ‘khela hobey’ (“the game is on”) are some of the memorable moments. Golu and Punam’s rebellion are also very moving, and so was Anjali’s eloquent speech on shame and women’s body in the bra shopping scene. But such aggrandized moments of tolerance and acceptance made me think critically of the things that were excluded from the movie. Take for example, the invisibility of the poor and the exclusion of people from other religions. Need I say more?

Under the banner of a romantic social comedy, the love story of Rocky and Rani denotes a tragic story of failure and erasure. The process of humanizing tyrannous men in the movie contributed to the demonization of strong women. Despite its ‘seeming’ success in dismantling patriarchy, one does not fail to notice the persistence of patriarchy in the disguise of effeminized manhood along with the projection of female strength that is only threatening. The perk of being a strong man is that, even when he is ‘tamed,’ he gets to stay till the end. His atonement and humanity have to be brought in front of the audience to justify his newly earned ‘manhood.’ The once oppressive Tijori is therefore the one who ‘fixes’ the problem by offering peace and harmony (through the marriage of Rocky and Rani).

The absence of Dhanalakshmi from the last scene is the film’s tragic flaw. The whole movie can be interpreted as the glorification of three love stories and the vilification of one story. The three glorified ones are: the love story of Jamini and Kanwal, Rocky and Rani, and of Anjan and his love for ‘Kathak’ dance. The vilified one is the story of Dhanalakshmi, the ‘other’ strong woman, who becomes the symbol of patriarchy in the family in her love for her son to become a perfect ‘manly’ man. The first three stories involve emotional attachments, personal satisfaction, and freedom, while the last one denotes a complete negation of self and an entrapment in a loveless marriage. Years later, when her husband’s soulmate returns, Dhanalakshmi has to tolerate it as the other woman openly ‘claims’ her husband as a lover. As she loses the war as well as her whole family, she does concede to the winner (Rani Chatterjee) in a letter and hands over the power of Randhawa-Lund family. The lavish bridal entrance and the whole wedding scene becomes unnecessary at this point unless we think of it as the final erasure of a woman named Dhanalakshmi, and unless we see it as a birth of a newer version of the erased woman. The movie was sure to have had a more impactful ending if a repentant Dhanalakshmi had stood side by side with all the other women of her family who freed themselves from patriarchal entrapment.

The film’s gender politics are telling— it is easier to accept a man’s weaknesses than to stop demonizing a woman. What is lost in the ‘bazaar’ the market economy of the film, is not the jhumka; they are questions of deconstructing patriarchy and rethinking versions of women’s empowerment and our willingness to accept and forgive. What can’t be forgiven is the film crossing out Dhanalakshmi Randhawa from her own story. Maybe that’s why the film after all retains the gender hierarchy in the title. Shouldn’t Rani aur Rocky be a more appropriate title? Or, should we take the title as a proof of societal parapraxis?