India is a beautiful country. And I don’t say this only because I am Indian.I say this because I have lived abroad for three years, and recognize the uniqueness of my land. I say this because I’ve lived in Western solitude, and reminisced the fuzzy warmth of Indian connection. Above everything else, I say this because I strive to retain the Indianness that dwells in my soul like a cauldron full of golden sunshine. I speak in Hindi, I bring up examples from Indian literature in my English classes, and once a week, I make sure to eat a delightfully flavored Indian dish. If you wish to experience the authentic rawness of human life, only to have it linger in your tastebuds like a raw mango, India is a wonderful place to establish your residence. But if you’re a woman, I will ask you to be cautious. Because India doesn’t treat its women well. It lifts them from the comforting warmth of their maiden homes with the iron tongs of marriage and wraps them in silken clothes, clasping their veins together with red and gold bangles. It chokes their voices with thick, gold necklaces and ties their dreams to the strands of their hair with deceitful flowers. It penetrates through their chest with metal fingers, playing with their emotions almost as though they were marbles.
This has been accurately documented by Mrs—a recently released Bollywood movie starring Sanya Malhotra, Nishant Dahiya and Kanwaljit Singh. Following the story of the protagonist Richa Kumar, Mrs. takes the viewer into the Indian arranged marriage setup, where Richa meets Diwakar, a young doctor who visits her house with his parents. Richa and Diwakar have never met each other before, but there’s something about this formal encounter that makes them fall for each other. Diwakar’s father, Ashwin Kumar, a well-to-do doctor alludes to his daughter, Divya, who is, as he puts it, settled with her husband and expecting a baby. There is demonstrated pride in his voice as he foreshadows what he expects Richa to do—get married, take care of his house, and of course, have a baby.
After this first meeting, Diwakar makes significant attempts to interact with Richa, and subtly manipulates her into marrying him. Like a fresh-faced rosebud that glistens with the dew of innocence, Richa falls for the fancy restaurants, big promises and sweet talk, regarding them as a promise for a loving alliance. However, that’s not true. As Richa comes to terms with the dynamics of Diwakar’s household, she sees her mother-in-law working with no rest. In addition to carrying out domestic chores, Richa’s mother-in-law has assumed complete responsibility over her husband’s chores. She takes out his clothes every morning, and keeps them on his bed: neatly-ironed and folded. She also reaches under his bed and draws out his shoes, placing them closer to his feet so that all he needs to do is slip into them. At 9 AM every morning, she ensures that both the men of the household get a hot breakfast, and urges Richa to make sure that the roti that is being served to Diwakar is warm.
For Diwakar’s father, his wife is clearly a source of pride. He goes on to tell Richa how she grinds vegetables on a stone instead of the electronic mixer, so that the ‘enzymes’ are retained. Throughout the movie, he compares his wife to Richa—bringing her up as an example over and over again. This lays the foundation for a brewing animosity between the two women, something that doesn’t quite materialize in the movie as Richa struggles to keep calm, grappling with the sour vomit of forgotten dreams that constantly filled her mouth.
Yes. Richa had dreams. She was an established dancer and choreographer with a dance group of her own. She wanted to pursue her passion further, and work as a part-time dance teacher in a school. This was instantly rejected by her father-in-law, who described how his wife had a PhD in Economics and yet chose to prioritize the children and family over her career. As Richa gets ready for a job interview, her father-in-law stops her midway and doesn’t respond to her plea and promise to balance everything. Distraught by this silent treatment, Richa is seen sitting in isolation— almost on the verge of tears.
Throughout the movie, we’re also shown vivid visuals of Richa’s wedding. The event is a grand celebration, combined with exquisite dishes and intricate decorations. There are different kinds of dishes and desserts, all set to impress the palette of people that Richa probably saw just once in her entire life. As the flamboyance of the affair comes to the surface, I’m deeply moved by the authenticity that it contains. Much as I hate to admit it, the movie isn’t an exaggeration. Indian weddings are often a grand affair, putting lives and families at stake. Many times, families of brides who aren’t able to afford the expenditure end up pledging their house and land as collateral—which are sometimes their only assets. Jewelry is sold, savings are emptied, and lives are overturned, just for one night of temporary extravagance. These families believe that if they give their daughter a grand wedding and a lavish dowry, they would automatically buy her a loving husband and marital family. The ridiculous nature of this belief is what fills me with anger. If I could, I would gather all the families who’ve ever thrown a lavish wedding party and put together a massive dowry and tell them how much better it would have been if they had invested in their daughter’s education instead. But relationships are the absolute epicenter of Indian culture, and the husband is looked upon as a synonym for God
As the story progresses, Diwakar’s expectations from Richa increase. He attempts to force sexual intercourse on her, making the act seem like a task that must be completed as opposed to a choice. When she gets her period, he expresses mock disappointment, and says that he thought that they were doing everything right to get her pregnant. This statement fills Richa with disgust, and as she catches up with her friend over a video call, she sees that someone who began dancing because of her has now booked a solo show in a reputed auditorium. This friend encourages Richa to come back to her dance group, and the former rejects this offer—saying that there’s a lot for her to take care of in her marital home. There’s a pivotal moment in this scene where Richa is consumed with envy, and she blocks her friend’s number. This can be interpreted as a reverse bildungsroman-ish moment. In the beginning of the movie, we see Richa dancing jovially with her group, displaying a sense of affection and respect for them. However, the fire of suppressed frustration scathed her personality—turning her into a bitter, angry woman who didn’t think twice about blocking her friend. She’s lost herself to the flames of her household stove, and is now a scarecrow of ashes moving around without an ounce of emotion.
Richa tries to seek support from the women around her. Like every other disturbed daughter, she reached out to her mother—only to be told to be shunned down and scolded for not being mindful about her household chores. The only support that she got was from Savi, a third-grader and the daughter of their household help. When Richa meets Savi for the first time, the two talk about prime numbers and the strength that these numerical figures contain. Savi tells Richa how her mother doesn’t have a lot of good luck in her life because she doesn’t have a husband, and Richa, in turn, assures Savi by telling her that her mother is a prime number—who can’t be broken by anyone, but herself. The prime number analogy carries on till the end of the movie, where Richa, swaddled in the silk of responsibility, asks Savi if she is truly a prime number, to which the latter responds with a confident nod that represents maturity beyond her years. It’s interesting to see how a prime number which isn’t even remotely related to the world of cinema and literature has been used as such an evocative metaphor.
The movie ends with an emotional outburst followed by Richa’s act of revenge and resolve to return to dance. She walks out of her husband’s home and races towards her passion, taking the time that she needed to reclaim herself before delivering a brilliant, classical dance performance. As the audience stands up to applaud her, Savi, the little girl who had been inspired by Richa’s assurance, claps the hardest. By ending the movie with this visual, the filmmaker helps us realize that just like kindness, strength, too, is a ripple that is passed down from one generation to the next.
From a scarecrow of ashes, Richa is now a raging phoenix who dips her wings in the fire of enthusiasm. But not everyone is as strong as she is. As I think of all the women who are not able to tear themselves apart from this entanglement of abuse, I tremble with fear. Mrs. might come to the surface as a domestic drama, but it’s actually a horror film that tears your eyelids, wrenches your pupils out, and lets them writhe on the floor till the dust stings them and begs for respite. It urges us to look into our kitchens and bring our women outside, to talk to them about their dreams and aspirations. Let the light of their stove not be the only luminescence in their lives, let the embers of their dreams be red-hot and glowing, crackling with the lingering flame of snuffed-out ambition.
