How one of India's cultural juggernauts criticized the patriarchy in ways it may have not even intended.
By Alexis Puthussery
photo: Yash Raj Films
Considered one of the defining films of Indian cinema and certainly one of the most popular, I hadn’t quite considered the gender politics that run deep in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (DDLJ), knowing that this was a film made for mass consumption and enjoyment at the end of the day. This was my fault, because after recently watching this movie with a more critical eye, its depiction of the stifling patriarchy’s incompatibility with female happiness and agency bubbling just under the surface of the film’s glossy, romantic SRKajol-clad exterior was clearer to me than ever. It’s by no means a perfect film, as many have noted how the 1990s Indian attitudes that the film often adopts haven’t aged quite so well, but I think to write it off completely does a large disservice to all the genuinely interesting things the film says about women in Indian culture, gender binaries, and the invalidity of the Indian patriarchy.
It is the scene between Simran (Kajol) and her mother, Lajjo (Farida Jalal), around half way through the film that made me start paying closer attention to what was being said about women. At this point in the movie, Simran is depressed because her father, Baldev, (Amrish Puri) is forcing her into an arranged marriage in Punjab despite her being in love with Raj (Shah Rukh Khan), a boy she met on a trip to Europe with her friends. Leading up to the engagement, Lajjo finds Simran staring out of a window solemnly preoccupied in thoughts of Raj. Lajjo tells Simran that in her own life, she had to make sacrifices first as a daughter, then as a sister, and then as a wife. Men don’t make sacrifices for women in the same way that women do for men and they never will, Lajjo says. Lajjo had told herself when Simran was born, she wouldn’t let her daughter have to sacrifice as much as she did, but she now realizes this was an impossible promise. This is where the film is at its most explicit about women in relation to Indian culture. Women can’t even afford to make promises, she laments. Her sentiments from earlier in the movie that women get to dream, but they shouldn’t expect those dreams to come true ring throughout this conversation. She begs Simran to forget Raj because that is the only way for Simran to be happy.
Simran and her mother / photo: Yash Raj Films
This scene is incredibly moving and you can feel just how immobilized Lajjo is by the norms of the society she finds herself in. The very subjugation she faces in the patriarchy that she wants her daughter to escape from is the same subjugation that leaves her unable to stand up for her daughter and it’s tragic. Though Simran, Simran’s sister, and Lajjo outnumber Baldev in their nuclear family, the three women still bend to the will of the father, the patriarchal familial structure of the culture running generations deep, leaving them stuck despite their female majority. In this moment, Lajjo is not just a maternal figure to Simran, offering comfort and advice, but a fellow woman, an equal who can see Simran’s pain and lament not just for her, but with her. It’s only when Simran sees that her plight is not particular to herself or even to just her family, but a plight experienced by most women, that she concedes she’ll get married to the man her father wants and will do her best to forget Raj. In this moment of resignation, you feel that Simran joins a long lasting tradition for Indian women, a tradition which feels bitter to the taste.
The scene directly after this is extremely intelligently placed. The entire family is gathered in the courtyard as wedding festivities are being carried out. Baldev and his own mother are watching on together from the side. Baldev is happy that the wedding is commencing, but his mother— Simran’s grandmother— tells him there’s a sadness in Simran’s eyes that troubles her. She sees a struggle in Simran that she knows all too well. The movie connects the women of the story through the shared pain of sacrifice and repression, something that they can all recognize and empathize with in each other. The fact that Baldev is ignorant of this and can’t see it despite showing deep reverence for his own mother speaks to the disconnect between the men of these families and the pain the women experience. It also highlights the irony of a common Bollywood trope— the deep connection between mother and son— showing that oftentimes the son may respect their mother for the unconditional love they receive from her, but still doesn’t view her as a fully realized person with her own internality.
Once Simran concedes to a life of constant sacrifice, joining the women in her family, the entrance of Raj into Simran’s wedding then uses pre-established gender roles to explore and uplift female happiness as well as show how malleable and constructed said gender roles are. The Punjab in which the second half of the film takes place is defined by a clear gender binary. There is the domain of the women, which involves cooking, housework, and clothes and there is the domain of the men, which involves hunting, camping, and chess. The men and women of the movie are often separated in scenes through this binary and only come together for big ceremonies or events. However, this strictly drawn gender line is broken by Raj's arrival. Eager to spend time with Simran and her family, for most of the second half of the film, Raj is seen surrounded by women. He helps the women prepare the wedding, carrying plates of food around, giving his opinions on clothes, and joining in on otherwise all female song and dance. Not only is he seen doing these things, but he genuinely enjoys it.
Raj dances with the women / photo: Yash Raj Films
This crossing over of the gender binary emphasizes the performance of gender and the farce of traditional gender expectations. Raj is good at and enjoys doing activities that define womanhood in Indian culture and the film doesn’t view him as any less of a man for it. He heavily contrasts Simran’s betrothed who is the model of traditional masculinity— a tall chiseled hunter who values tradition— and the film asserts that Raj is the more desirable of the two. He places value in the happiness of the women and takes an interest in their goings on, making him not only a better romantic interest, but a better person overall. The film implies there is a moral failing in Simran’s betrothed that there isn’t in Raj, the former notably absent in the lives of the women of the film. By acknowledging the strict gender roles in Indian culture, the film is able to then break them down through Raj’s behavior and then exalt Raj for doing so.
One way to track Raj’s character arc in this film is through his emotional maturation, which happens to coincide with his increased screen time amongst and interactions with women, particularly Simran. In the first half of the movie, Raj seems to live a rather mono-gendered life. His mother died when he was extremely young, so he was raised by a single father and all his friends are men from his college. When he meets Simran, he’s kind of a jack-ass and doesn’t take much seriously, much to her irritation. However, when he and she become stranded in Europe together and he learns more about her life, that she is agreeing to marry a complete stranger because that is the responsibility she must bear, he grows to respect, admire, and feel concern for her. “Are you happy about the decision?” he asks her, to which she doesn’t answer because that is not something that was ever considered in her arranged marriage, nor is it something she can afford to consider herself. He is exposed firsthand to the sacrifices women in his culture must make, which so deeply contrasts the abundance of freedom he has and it sobers him. This is not a film that implies the presence of women in a man’s life will magically mature him or that women should have the responsibility of teaching men how to behave, however. There is no lecturing done by a woman to Raj, explaining to him the importance of female happiness. Once he sees and realizes the burden that is placed on Simran and other women, he himself matures and he spends the second half of the film with the women of the families. The film’s hero is a man who ultimately puts importance in the happiness of women, a trait which distinguishes him from most of the men in the film. It is implied that any rational man, once aware of the magnitude of sacrifice demanded from women, should empathize with and work to meet them at their level, not to expect them to sacrifice even more.
Raj’s nonconformity comes to a head during Karwa Chauth, the Hindu holiday where women take the day to fast for the longevity of their husband’s lives. It is notable that there isn’t a male equivalent of Karwa Chauth in which the men would give up something for their wives’ well-being. A holiday that promotes universal female sacrifice for men is emblematic of Lajjo’s insistence that women sacrifice all the time for men, but not vice versa. Simran participates in it, as do all the women at the wedding. The men stay outside the house, so as not to disturb the fasting, leaving the house populated by only the women. And Raj. When Raj decides to fast with the women in secret, it is much more than just a romantic gesture. His fasting is not only another instance of non-conformity in this film’s strict gender binary, but it also works to show what male sacrifice might look like. If a wife fasts for her husband’s well-being, should he not do the same for her? Through this moment, DDLJ makes its stance on love quite clear: It is not that love must be without sacrifice in total, but there must be equal sacrifice by both people, no matter the gender.
Raj participates in Karwa Chauth / photo: Yash Raj Films
While many aspects of DDLJ are quite critical of the patriarchal control of the Indian household, the ending ultimately bends to the will of tradition. Though Raj wins the love of almost everyone in the family, he— and it seems the film— doesn't think this is enough to make him worthy of Simran unless Simran’s father approves. Near the end of the film, Lajjo tells Raj and Simran to run away and that she’ll deal with the fallout, but Raj refuses. He wants to love Simran openly, so that he and her may leave with their heads held high. But he also says he will only leave with Simran when her father gives him her hand. The fact that Simran is something to be given, not a person of her own agency, and that it is her father who needs to be the one who gives her, propagates patriarchal systems. Though Raj and Simran are going against the wishes of the patriarchy, the film ultimately still has them attempting to uphold its values.
When Baldev finds out about Raj and Simran, he strikes Raj, publicly berates him, and casts him out of the house. Raj accepts this and leaves in defeat, not knowing that Simran’s betrothed is after him with the intention of killing him due to the dishonor Raj has caused. It is only because Lajjo alerts Simran to this and tells her to go after Raj that Baldev sees the love Raj and Simran have for each other and finally “lets Simran go” in the last minute of the movie. The film concludes with Baldev literally giving away Simran to Raj, an ending where even though the woman gets what she wants, she only gets it because the patriarchy allows her. The writers of the film would have you believe that there can exist a world where patriarchal systems work with women, not against them. The ending insists that a breaking of the current system isn’t necessary and the authority of the father can be prodded into the interests of the daughter. In other words, despite all the pain caused by the patriarchy, patriarchal systems need not be destroyed, but reformed and ultimately preserved.
The entire film is insistent that Raj gets Baldev’s approval to run away with Simran. Every time someone tells him that it will be impossible to convince Baldev, he brushes it off and continues his wooing. The film wants you to believe that it is possible for Raj to win over Baldev, that patriarchal systems aren’t a lost cause, but when in the last minute of the movie Baldev finally relents and tells Simran to go with Raj, in my opinion, the moment falls flat. I think it is in this very flaw, in this story misstep that never sat right with me, that the film unintentionally makes its strongest case against patriarchal systems on a very meta level.
How can a man who spent his entire adult life yearning for an idea of India which he conflated with the obedience of his daughter, suddenly change his mind because he can now see the love and sadness in Raj and Simran’s eyes? Though realism is never the lens through which you should view a movie like DDLJ, this “twist” never felt earned on a basic emotional or story level. The real explanation for Baldev’s change of heart is that the plot demanded it and as a result, the ending isn’t emotionally consistent with everything that occurred before. For Baldev, the film’s representation of the stalwart, imposing patriarchy, to have his mind suddenly changed in the eleventh hour, is not nearly emotionally satisfying enough. The very fact that the ending is incongruent with the rest of the movie just emphasizes more how impossible it is for the rigid rules of the Indian patriarchy to persist if we do place any value in the happiness of women. The emotional failure of this moment from a story perspective is a failure in itself of upholding patriarchal systems. The ending has a highly idealistic faith in upholders of the patriarchy to change even when it doesn’t benefit them, which viewers know simply won’t happen. The rest of the film, which constantly shows in a very real way the pain brought on by patriarchal systems, cannot be conceded with a conclusion that implies the patriarchy can be preserved while still placing importance on female happiness and agency. The complete implausibility of the ending and Baldev’s sudden change of mind to me reflects the complete implausibility of successful patriarchal reform.
photo: Rash Raj Films
DDLJ is a romantic epic depicting young love with some of India’s most iconic actors arguably at their best; it’s funny, musical, and cathartic just as any good Bollywood flick is. But if you look hard enough, it’s also about the flimsy construction of the deeply rooted gender binary India has and the tragic weary reality of the patriarchal family structure that Indian women find themselves in. It was a pleasure looking back at DDLJ through this lens. I’m unsure how much of this was even intentional by Aditya Chopra, but the fact that a thirty year old Bollywood blockbuster of this size has all this subtext makes me want to demand better from what we’re getting right now. Raj and Simran’s love isn’t enough to realistically reform the patriarchy, as I don’t think there exists anything that is, but their love did call into question whether the Indian patriarchy was even capable of being saved. It questioned the validity of separating men and women by a harsh gender binary and the morals of the men who uphold it. It questioned the validity of long-lasting marriage and religious traditions that often strip women of their agency. It questioned whether Indians put enough value in the happiness of their women at all. And it's for all this questioning, despite the places it may fall short, why I think DDLJ deserves all the love it gets.
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