No, there is no real evidence that Mr Bachchan’s daughter-in-law had to marry a tree before she could marry his son but a gentlemanly, deep-seated patriarchy has long been a part of who he is. Many years ago, on Karan Johar’s talk show, he expressed his sincere admiration and absolute respect for Kajol because she had chosen to prioritise motherhood over her career despite being a much in demand actor.
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Much before that, on Rendezvous with Simi Garewal, he did not protest when this was said by the soft-spoken host, “In 1976, the family nucleus was created when Abhishek was born. Was it tough being a father and a superstar Amit ji?” The question drew only a raised eyebrow from Shweta who is in fact the first born in the Bachchan house-hold and had not been acknowledged as the one who initiated the family nucleus. The interview focused also on how great a father Mr Bachchan was, how he made obstacle courses for his kids, took them for drives, checked their air-conditioning vents at night. Though it is a well-known fact that it was Jaya Bachchan, the FTII gold medallist, the Ray debutante, the face of some of the most sensitive films made in the seventies who put her own career on hold to raise them. But then that was expected of her, wasn’t it? Parenting and the sacrifices it entails, cannot be a two way street. Good that Kajol knew that too and earned Mr Bachchan’s respect.
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In another, older interview with Simi, Bachchan also scored his wife just a notch below himself as a parent because, “there is a huge amount of impatience.” And a lack of thehraav. This was said casually and patronisingly to a woman who has stuck with him through dirt storms of all kinds and has been a devoted mother. About his own parenting style, Mr Bachchan said that he decided very early to treat Shweta like a ‘lady’ and his son like a ‘friend.’ So no, his recent letter to his granddaughters where the only legacy worth mentioning belonged to their great grandfathers, should not surprise us at all. You cannot blame him for being a product of the age he was born and raised in. And for not knowing that times have indeed changed. Though he has tried to keep up, he does not completely understand the shifts in the way women are spoken to and about today and how gender roles can no longer be taken for granted and assigned the way they were when he was a young man. He is possibly surprised with the occasional backlash he receives at things nobody would have a questioned a few years ago.
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But it is the distance between his carefully crafted image and his life choices and his selective use of the media and his fans to promote himself and his agendas, that is troublesome and should be called out. He has always portrayed himself as a family man but had no qualms about bringing the suspected other woman and a long suffering wife in the same film to titillate viewers with his chemistry with one and his domesticity with the other. All in the name of a good day at the box office. Elsewhere too in his cinematic career, once he emerged from the gentle, sanitised world of Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Basu Chatterjee, women just became secondary to his persona. Even a Smita Patil was reduced to just a wet saree clad prop in Namak Halal. In his film Dostana, he told the eve teased heroine, “if you wear clothes like this and walk around, log seetein nahin maarenge toh kya mandir ki ghanti bajayenge?”
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Granted that he was just doing his job but what is most disappointing is the huge gap between ‘kathni’ and ‘karni’ in his life. Between what is proclaimed and what is lived. He refuses to concede in interviews that he is a legend but has no qualms about sharing pictures of the surging crowds outside his bungalow to show how much he is loved. Or to compete with actors for awards who were in their diapers when he became a one man industry. We know by now too, that it is stupid of us to expect a man who symbolised blood and sweat-beaded rebellion against the establishment, to remain conscientious, outspoken and politically neutral in real life but well, it still rankles that he is not an idealist but an opportunist who can switch political loyalties according to convenience. It still rankles that despite all the love we continue to give him, he did not become more but less. That his charisma and goodwill are used today to sell products and political agendas and not to articulate authentic opinions about corruption, feminism, gender rights and more.
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Ofcourse, he does not owe us anything but his work but he cannot also expect us to take him seriously when he writes public letters to his granddaughters just before the release of a feminist film he is starring in. It does not ring true. Just like the recent ad where he channelled Sahir Ludhiyanvi to sell a wall sealant. For someone who grew up mesmerised by his cinema in the 70s, the disillusion cuts deep that a cinematic idol was just that. An idol. Not real.
Reema Moudgil is the editor and co-founder of Unboxed Writers, the author of Perfect Eight, the editor of Chicken Soup for the Soul-Indian Women, a translator who recently interpreted Dominican poet Josefina Baez’s book Comrade Bliss Ain’t Playing in Hindi, an RJ and an artist who has exhibited her work in India and the US and is now retailing some of her art at http://paintcollar.com/reema. She won an award for her writing/book from the Public Relations Council of India in association with Bangalore University, has written for a host of national and international magazines since 1994 on cinema, theatre, music, art, architecture and more. She hopes to travel more and to grow more dimensions as a person. And to be restful, and alive in equal measure.
Agree with you.
Feel like agreeing to every word. Being celebrity can never be easy. Still no one of us perfect and life teach us everyday. It is okay to let go sometime, if people pause and take notice because of his profound persona and change their perception for the greater good of woman..