When I first heard about the release of this film in May and the Kannada film industry finally getting its long-awaited national award for best actor, I was quite excited about it. First, because I had read Living Smile Vidya’s autobiography on which the movie is based and second, because even amongst scholars of gender studies and queer theory, I hadn’t really seen much discussion happening around the issues and concerns this particular autobiography brings to the fore. But before I embark on reviewing the film itself, I’d like to reflect upon the representation of the genre of hijra autobiography a little.
Historicising Hijra Autobiography
The most recent addition into the growing body of hijra autobiographies was Lakshmi Narayan Tripathi’s Me Hijra, Me Lakshmi which was released in February this year. It is not so much about the content of the book as the Afterword that I would like to draw attention to. Well known writer and poet R. Raj Rao, in the afterword, contextualises Lakshmi’s writing as “one of the earliest works that belong to the genre of hijra literature” (Tripathi 183) Rao historicises Tripathi’s work while comparing it to A. Revathi’s The Truth About Me: A Hijra Life Story, calling it “essentialist” where Tripathi is “anti-essentialist” for the reason–one of many–that while Revathi constantly stresses on her victimhood throughout her book (Tripathi 187-88), Tripathi’s narrative is that of someone who has survived all odds. Unlike Revathi who “derives her essential identity by virtue of being a hijra” Lakshmi apparently “decentres” it (188). I sensed a bit of condescension here in the statements that he made even while Rao credits Revathi’s autobiography for preceding Lakshmi’s own narrative. The point here is that the two narratives are different. Period. Calling one essentialist or being about victimhood gives the impression that one is preferable to the other. These are life narratives. What you and I prefer is immaterial against what the person in question does.
That Revathi does describe sex graphically should point to the fact that perhaps she wanted people who read it to know the extent to which she faced humiliation at the hands of her customers. it should, in no way be taken to imply that she has included “pornographic content” in her book as opposed to Lakshmi who consciously avoids them (190). Perhaps Revathi assumed (wrongly?) that her readers are discerning and mature enough to realise what the narrative is really about and not get distracted by descriptions of sex acts or genitals. But, anyway, to get back to the main point without further digression, what I wanted to point out was how easily Vidya’s autobiography was skimmed over, not getting even a single mention in the afterword by Raj Rao when he tries to trace the history of hijra autobiography. The omission is even more glaring seeing as how it is, in fact, the first autobiography of a transwoman preceding even Revathi’s (it was first published in 2007 as is indicated in the copyright section of her book).
So there you can imagine my excitement over the release of Naanu Avanalla…Avalu. For a book that barely gets a mention even amongst the scholars and literati, that a film like this has been made was something to definitely look forward to. To top it off, the newspapers last week informed me that the film would be released commercially. I couldn’t wait to watch it.
This post, more than speaking of whether it was a “good”, “average” or a “bad” film, I am more interested in pondering over elements that I thought worked wonderfully and others which could perhaps have been executed better.
Impressions
It primarily traces the travails of a transwoman born as Madesha in different stages of her life, capturing moments of her transition: first as a boy who has to come to terms with his effeminacy; a young man in love with another whose love he is unsure of; the decision to move away from home; becoming part of the kothi community in Bangalore; the transition into a hijra, calling herself Vidya; the move then to leave the hijra community not being able to accept their way of life; and, finally, the decision to find mainstream employment. The positive point for me of the film lay in the way in which these moments of transition were captured.
My experience of the film as a whole happened at several levels. One of them was the observation of the other viewers responses to scenes of the film There is a scene where Madesha passionately hugs his friend and love interest Govinda asking him to never abandon him as he is the only friend he has in the village.Another viewer who was sitting right behind me, then went, “You $%^** (a Kannada swear word which does not really have an adequate English translation, but in any case it doesn’t matter because the degree of insult meant doesn’t really change) what are you doing?” and expressed utter disgust at having been subjected to such “indecent” behaviour in so many words.
I remember feeling outraged at this kind of reaction, thinking, well, if you do not like the movie, by all means, walk out. Please do not spoil the show for others who are seriously trying to watch the film. What was interesting for me in this particular instance was that this kind of reaction was elicited not when Madesha tried on his sister’s clothes, neither when walked in a “girlish manner” on-screen (if it was there, it was limited to whispers or unvoiced thoughts). It was only when Madesha was shown as feeling affection or even sexual desire for his friend Govinda that this hushed reaction dared to come out of hiding. The same hug between a heterosexual couple, on the other hand, might just have been ignored.
The film very well captures Vidya’s resilience despite being thwarted by people around her constantly. Even when she is terribly afraid and terrified, she is determined not to let the fear stop her. You get to see the transformation of the gullible and fearful Madesha turning into the outspoken and brave Vidya who does not take either abuse or ridicule lying down and gives as good as she gets.
The music and songs in the film too are powerful in their quiet presence in the background, the lyrics being immensely evocative.
Too much is too less
The film did try to make an honest attempt at being sensitive. While it tries to introduce all the issues related to transgenders, it remains just that: an introduction without much depth. There were several moments where I felt it was lacking and superficial at best. For instance, Madesha becomes part of a group of crossdressing men who are then referred to as “kothis”. This bit of detail might actually have gone a long way in clarifying doubts in the layperson’s mind. “Kothi” in colloquial Kannada refers to monkey and is considered as a term of ridicule generally. By clarifying that crossdressing men, usually of lower socio-economic groups, are also referred to as kothis if not any more details about them, the film might have helped dispel prejudices against them in a better manner.What happens when you try to represent complex issues such as gender non-conformity within a two-and-a-half hour film is that all the issues kind of feel like they are just being scraped at the surface and before you can understand one point, another complexity is introduced making it seem like a superficial attempt at best. Instead, if just one issue was taken up and a narrative was built around it, it might have been more powerful in that sense. The nuances of the hijra culture and the power dynamics within the hijra gharanas could have been portrayed better. Also, Vidya got lucky in several instances, the mist important among them being having a Masters degree. Not all hijras can afford to even finish school that easily. This point had not been clarified making it seem as if joining the hijras, getting a nirvana and even quitting, getting a job, education are all very easy for a transperson. It isn’t. Vidya was lucky that her guru in the hijra community was so accommodating, telling her she can leave the gharana to be with her family. Most times, coming out of the hijra community is almost impossible.
The casting and the lure of awards
The other issue I have is with the casting of the protagonist. Sanchari Vijay no doubt does a wonderful job of playing Vidya in the film, but it does not take away from the fact that, at the end of the day it is still a cis-man who is considered as the right person to play a transperson. That too, when you clearly mention at the end of the film that Living Smile Vidya is an accomplished theatre person running her own troupe. You still do not think of casting her or another transwoman to play her character.
I am not being snobbish here when I say that only a transwoman should be allowed to play a transwoman or that cis-gendered people lack the required empathy and sensibility to play trans people effectively. I illustrate my point with an example:
The other day, we were watching a Kannada telly awards show in which Sanchari Vijay was one of the celebrities called upon to give away the award. The anchor introduces him as “the person who finally brought a national award to the Kannada film industry.” No mention of why he got the award, what the film was about, how important the issue the film addresses was or how it has helped sensitise people about transgenders in India. What’s more, even Sanchari Vijay never said a word about the film, content in simply basking in the glory of having won it. I asked myself: would a transperson have received the same kind of attention, praise if they were to play Vidya in the film? I certainly don’t think so though I would love to be proven wrong.
While I’m on the subject of awards, perhaps it also becomes pertinent to think about how much every time the fact that a film has won an award, dictates the seeworthiness of the film. That people will watch the film not because it is about an issue that you are interested in, but ironically, your interest is dictated by the award that the film wins. But perhaps there is an upside to it, after all: if it weren’t for the fact that it had won the national award, it might not have even reached our ears that such a film existed, let alone being released commercially such that I could have the experience of watching the film just as I would any other Sandalwood film and critique it. Perhaps that is what we need to applaud too. That this film has braved the commercial scenario instead of just remaining cooped up in the protective shells of film festivals. Perhaps now R. Raj Rao will go back and read Living Smile Vidya’s autobiography and edit his afterword to not just include it in the book, but also to revise his opinion of Revathi’s book in the process.
References:
Tripathi, Lakshminarayan. Me Hijra, Me Lakshmi. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2015
The Papyrus Quill 