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From the Film Poster of Mandi Photo: IMDB From the Film Poster of Mandi Photo: IMDB

“Main kitni baar bola na ji ujala kapda pehno nakkorich711

Kaala kapda pehno nakko…”

Wrapped in a towel, Zeenat (Smita Patil) perfumes her moist hair over coal embers, covered with a wicker basket, as Rukmini Bai (Shabana Azmi) sings in the background.

“Tu sada savaspari rahe, godi hari bhari rahe

Chaar din ki chandni hai, dukh ke tidke jhelo nakko

Ujala kapda pehno nakko…”

The camera moves to Rukmini Bai’s reflection in the mirror. She sets her hair with metal clips as she sings, licking her fingers and setting the stray strands in place.

Zeenat, who was the apple of Rukmini’s eye, is no more able to see eye to eye with her. The women are stuck under the looming threat of another uprooting and displacement, and Zeenat is nursing a hearbreak over an impossible love affair. Amidst the strife and torment, the scene serves as a momentary relief.

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Much has been said of the socio-political undercurrents in Shyam Benegal’s massive body of work, spanning over nearly five decades. Some have gone on to say that Indian cinema can be divided into pre-Benegal and post-Benegal eras because of how the veteran filmmaker moulded the industry with his craft. But Benegal—who passed away on December 23, shortly after celebrating his nintieth birthday—was more than just a social provocateur. His was an artistic style, which assimilated questions on crucial issues like gender, class, caste, poverty and corruption into a nuanced aesthetic rendition within a range of genres. Amongst the many elements which made his cinema unique, one that stood out was Benegal’s portrayal of women. In an industry where women were seldom elevated from the status of arm candies, Benegal painted his women with myriad hues of complexities. Mandi (1983) is a classic illustration of this exemplary capability.

Earlier in the match, a raucous crowd gave the Chinese players full support as they faced a formidable Pakistan. The game started slow with both teams struggling to find space in each other's defence. However, China kept control of the ball and made more attacks than Pakistan.

It is difficult to write on Mandi because of the many interpretations that have been rendered of the film. While some critics have written extensively on Mandi’s powerful connotation of capital and market, others have pointed out the uncanny resemblance of Rukmini Bai’s trajectory in the film with Indira Gandhi’s tumultuous career. However, Mandi stands tall when it comes to talking on films that have treated women—especially engaged in the profession of sex work— with empathy.

A Still from Mandi Photo: Mandi A Still from Mandi Photo: Mandi

The women of Rukmini Bai’s brothel are flawed. But Benegal does not moralise these flaws; he is compassionate in visibilising them with his critical take on human tendencies. The brothel—shown to house a relentless pandemonium in this comic political satire—is also a chaos of human emotions. There is envy, brutality, rage and oppression; but there is also love, solidarity, grieving and redemption. The contrast between Gupta (Kulbhushan Kharbanda) and Agarwal’s (Saeed Jaffrey) transactional filial relations and Rukmini Bai and her ‘chosen’ family of sex workers is rich. And this contrast emerges even more starkly in the way that the women in these setups are sketched. While the demure Malti (Ratna Pathak Shah) cannot leave her mother’s side even for an excursion with her betrothed, Parweena (Anita Kanwar) is able to venture effortlessly with whichever man suits her need. While Shanti Devi (Gita Siddharth) is unrelenting in her righteousness, Rukmini shows kindness even when she is rejected.

But none of these women fit the virgin/whore dichotomy; they are everything in between. Rukmini is sly and calculative, Nadira (Soni Razdan) is opportunistic, Zeenat is rebellious and Shanti Devi is cunning. Each is working towards fulfilling their own aspirations—their desires unkempt and greed uncontained. Interestingly, the conscience-keepers of this universe are unhinged men—Tungrus (Naseeruddin Shah), the faithful helper of Rukmini’s brothel and Darvish (Amrish Puri), a wanderer seeking divine redemption.

Mandi exemplifies that range of depth that Benegal showcased in the women he sketched across his cinematic repertoire. It demonstrates what Indian cinema can be capable of, if it chose to move beyond glossy stereotypes and archaic gender conventions. And most importantly, the film proved that cinema doesn’t need these hackneyed portrayals to do well commercially. Though his loss is irreplacable, Benegal’s films will continue to teach future generations of filmmakers the art of telling stories of substance with imaginative curiosity.

Satyajit Ray, A Film By Shyam Benegal | Excerpt

BY Samik Bandyopadhyayrich711