In the column Let's Talk About Women, Sneha Bengani looks at films, the world of entertainment, and popular media through the feminist lens. Because it's important. Because it's needed. And because we're not doing it enough.
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There are several things about Life in a Metro that make it a memorable watch. Its soulful music album, that put Pritam on the map. The deftness with which it weaves together six stories of love, want, and loneliness against the backdrop of the ever-changing, always moving Mumbai—a city that takes a lot more out of its people than what it gives them, as Dharmendra’s character ruminates towards the end. And most importantly, how despite limited screen time, it gives all its characters—especially women—enough space and conflict to come undone, gather themselves and start anew.
However, what stands out for me in this 2007 film is its poignant, layered portrayal of the insidious relationship between female desire and shame. All the four lead women in this Anurag Basu directorial, irrespective of their story or stature, are made to feel ashamed for wanting and being wanted. But this deep-seated bias comes out the most strongly through the trials of Kangana Ranaut’s Neha, a young, ambitious call centre executive, and Shilpa Shetty’s Shikha, a bored mother battling a turbulent marriage.
There’s a scene early on in the film in which Neha is searching for a light for her cigarette. When her flatmate Shruti (played by Konkona Sen Sharma) asks her what she’s looking for, Neha explodes. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m looking for my father who left me when I was a kid. Or the classmate who threw me out of a moving car because I didn’t have sex with him. Or maybe it’s the ex-boyfriend who dumped me so he could marry the girl of his parent's choice.”
When Shruti points out that none of it was her fault, Neha quips, “It was. My mistake was falling in love with the wrong person at the wrong time.”
Neha’s sense of shame at her life choices comes to the fore unbridled when her colleague, Sharman Joshi’s Rahul, finds out about her affair with their senior Ranjit Kapoor—Shikha’s husband—played by the always dependable Kay Kay Menon. On a cab ride with Rahul, she asks him, “You would be wondering what kind of an abominable girl I must be to sleep with my married boss.”
But the scene that lays bare the inherent misogyny is the one that leads to this cab ride—the big confrontation between Neha and Ranjit. Frustrated at wanting more out of their clandestine relationship and not getting it, she accuses him of using her. Indignant, he lashes out. “I have used you? Don’t make me open my mouth. What do you think? You are an innocent 16-year-old girl who doesn’t know anything? Someone I have duped into doing things? The perks that you get, even top executives don’t. You travel business class, get out of turn promotions. I have given you everything you’ve asked for. So you better be careful when talking about who is using whom.”
Likening her to a sex worker, he adds, “It’s a relief that you haven’t started asking for cash upfront yet,” throws a couple of 500-rupee notes at her, and leaves.
However, it’s when Ranjit admits to his adultery in front of his wife Shikha that the build-up reaches a crescendo. When Shikha reacts with a confession of her own, all his guilt and apology evaporate in an instant. The narrative changes diabolically. He conveniently forgets all his doings and charges at her instead. “Have you slept with him?” he asks. He follows it with “Did you use my bedroom?” and finally“Bacchi toh meri hai na?” questing the legitimacy of their daughter’s parentage.
Interestingly, it is he who had been sleeping with Neha for two years. Shikha had been meeting Shiney Ahuja’s Akash for a few weeks. Which one’s a bigger slip, emotional or physical infidelity, is debatable but in this scene, irrespective of lapse on both sides, the guilt is only the woman’s. It’s Shikha who is crying copiously, ashamed and apologetic. Meanwhile, Ranjit feels wronged, disgusted. Wow.
There’s more. In a fit of rage, he leaves her and their daughter to be with Neha. It’s only after she abandons him for Rahul that Ranjit returns to Shikha, weepy and bruised. Unsurprisingly, Shikha accepts her pati parmeshwar; chooses him despite it all over the newfound happiness waiting for her at the railway station.
As problematic as it might be, it is still the norm, isn’t it? Disturbingly, not much has changed in the 15 years since the film’s release. Don’t we all know, see women being punished more severely than men for the same mistake? Or women being apologetic even when they are not at fault as me—even those charged with serious crimes—roam unchallenged, scratching their balls publicly as if they rule the world? The sad truth is, they do.
This is why films that show female desire as a punishable offense don’t elicit raised eyebrows or the deep urge to change the status quo, just a wan smile from a select few who know what it’s like. Because it’s men making them in a man’s world.
There’s a scene in the film in which Shikha and Akash try to have an intimate moment at his friend’s flat and get interrupted. Scared out of her wits at being found out, she flees. When he tries to stop her, Shikha—weeping relentlessly—says, “I have stooped so low, I feel like a slut.”
Unfunnily, it’s Neha and Shikha who carry all the burdens of guilt, shame, and remorse throughout Life in a Metro. Ranjit, who is at the heart of all the mess, couldn’t be bothered.
In fact, in the introductory scene that establishes his equation with Neha, he internally questions why he is spending time with her instead of his wife on their anniversary. His reason—“Because with her, I get the happiness and peace that I don’t get at home. Whether it be at home or at the office, I’m always irritated, angry, stressed, and thinking about the future. But with her, I feel like 20 again. Free and full of joy. Anyway, staying happy in life is not a crime. According to me, there is nothing wrong with this. Everyone is happy and no one is getting hurt.”
Sure. After all, what's wrong with driving a woman to the brink of suicide? Or cheating on your wife? Or gaslighting her? Or wanting to be “free and full of joy?" My only question: why do men get so uncomfortable, why do their worlds come crashing down when women strive for the same freedoms and joys that have always been their birthright?
When not reading books or watching films, Sneha Bengani writes about them. She tweets at @benganiwrites.
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