And suddenly Jhansi Ki Rani has become a cinematic trigger. First Subhadra Kumari Chauhan’s poem, “Khoob ladi mardani woh to Jhansi wali Rani thi” about the warrior queen was referenced by Rani Mukherjee’s Mardani (spot the connection?).
In Omung Kumar’s Mary Kom, a wizened coach (Sunil Thapa) tells Priyanka Chopra’s Mary that her strength has doubled after motherhood and straps her two babies on her back. And there she stands, a little like Laxmi Bai who had battled for Jhansi with her adopted baby boy strapped to her back.
The idea of a female hero or shero is an anomaly in Hindi cinema if you discount Sohrab Modi’s 1956 film Jhansi Ki Rani which celebrated a woman’s unalloyed valour. Usually in Hindi cinema, a brave heroine is an avenging angel who must be wronged to a point of no return to then become a Putli Bai or a Bandit Queen or Rekha in Khoon Bhari Maang or even Mardani. The bravery that comes naturally? Flashes of that we saw in Chak De India where women played hockey… well, because, they wanted to.
The point of being a North-Eastern woman in India too was put across briefly but effectively in that film. That bit does not come across that easily in this film for the simple reason that Priyanka Chopra, despite the muscles and the painted freckles, does not look like Mary Kom. Also, to make her speak Hindi like Bob Christo (“Hum khayega..hum jaayega”) of the bad 80s pot-boilers is a bit jerky considering in really crucial scenes, she perfectly delivers lines like, “Kisi ko itna bhi mat darao ki dar hi khatam ho jaye.”
But the idea that a woman can be recklessly brave? Yes, that point comes across in the film. The idea that a woman can want to be a boxer, want to beat up boys on the streets even though she gets beaten most of the time? Yes, that too. Especially when we see this girl say, “DON’T call me a boy!” Or when she says to the guy dropping her home on his bike at night, “You are safe with me.”
There is also that scene in the beginning where Mary is chasing a boy through the streets of Imphal, swearing and sweating. Her face is bloody and you know then, it is not just about gender reversal, this heroism. It is about ‘zid.’ And about a rice farmer’s daughter who sews old shoes, fights to earn her pair of boxing gloves and gets punched in her face till she can punch back at everything standing in her way.
And about the wife and mother whose headline making exploits were relegated to old newspapers soaked in baby urine till she decided to punch her way back into glory.
For showing us that this impossibility is possible, the film deserves praise. As also for making us realise in the climax just what is the price that our little known sportsmen and women pay for the joy of hearing the national anthem resonate across international podiums.
It is refreshing to see a Hindi film that is set in valleys and homes, we are not familiar with. As also to see a gleeful smashing of the gender stereotyping rampant in Hindi cinema when the man of the house puts his wife’s forgotten medals and trophies back in the display shelf. And juggles feeding bottles and twin babies so that her ambitions can soar above and beyond the needs of their family unit.
The film does not pretend to be too layered and only in passing hints at insurgency in the North-East and the disrespect that our athletes are subjected to by bureaucrats. And ofcourse, there is some amount of Bollywoodisation starting with the casting, the mandatory training scene in spectacular hilly terrains set to a rousing song and the unabashed plugs for pain balm, an artificial sweetener and desh ka namak.
Chopra has obviously worked hard on getting the physicality of a boxer right and her anger and her emotions as a conflicted daughter and mother are authentic. She obviously gets Mary Kom but it is hard for us to forget that she is not. Darshan Kumar as the supportive husband blends strength and gentleness perfectly. Rob Miller, the sports action director for Chak De! India and Bhaag Milkha Bhaag does a good job with the boxing sequences but the audience reactions in places appear to be caricaturish.
Still, in the context of an industry where the only heroes are men walking in slow motion towards 100 crore jackpots and women are either item girls or asides, a mother of two answering the jibe, “Go home mama’’ with a jaw smashing punch in the boxing ring, is worth the price of a ticket.
with Reema Moudgil works for The New Indian Express, Bangalore, is the author of Perfect Eight, the editor of Chicken Soup for the Soul-Indian Women, an artist, a former RJ and a mother. She dreams of a cottage of her own that opens to a garden and where she can write more books, paint, listen to music and just be.