My mother called. She asked me if I wish to talk to Munu Ba^[i]. She gave the phone to her.

: We could not complete our film. She said.

: Hmm. How are you feeling?

: I am happy, and probably won’t cry.

: Congratulations!

: Visit me in Udalguri.

It was her wedding day; I could not attend due to my academic priorities. I questioned whether it was worth missing her marriage for an institution that does not even care about our existence, and is insensitive towards our professors, friends, and all those who strive for a safe learning space. I regretted not being there, she knew how much I wanted to film everything about her marriage.

Last year, I had come up with an idea to simultaneously document the anticipation of two different marriages in two different locations. One was that of my 10-year-old niece, whose parents, in a village in middle Assam, were eagerly awaiting her menarche, which is celebrated as Tuloni Biya. The other was my 25-year-old cousin, residing in a village in lower Assam, whose parents had been expecting her to get married, with preparations underway accordingly.

I had long conversations with my cousin when we were planning to shoot the film. Like most women, she was convinced that it is marriage which is the primary goal of her life. Since childhood, she was directed towards it and her career was always a second priority. Marriage is a social duty towards the family and the community, and there was little idea of individual interest (Kapadia, 1966, p.168). She expressed that one cannot marry twice, unlike clothes that can be replaced if damaged. Marriage is irreversible, requiring careful thought and consideration before deciding.

The question here is why this is such an important episode. Why do our lives revolve around marriage? Why do people find it difficult to accept that the institution of marriage is itself faulty?

Women have the baggage of needing to save their marriage at any cost. They are expected to compromise on everything, while their male counterparts enjoy male privileges and can do anything they want. A few days ago, I was watching ‘Joyland’ (2022) a film that critically portrays this aspect of marriage, where women are still expected to compromise on everything. However, not all women can normalize these compromises, and the character ‘Mumtaz’(played by Rasti Farooq) takes her own life suffocating under this burden of compromise.

Mumtaz was doing well in her professional career as a makeup artist, and with her income, she was also planning to buy two ACs for her husband’s family. But when her husband got a job, the whole family insisted that Mumtaz leave her job, as her husband could now provide for them. This clearly shows that women’s financial freedom is always dependent on their husband’s income. The character of Mumtaz represents the story of many Indian women whose lives are meant to be solely focused on familial responsibilities. At the same time, the character of Mumtaz’s husband, Haider (played by Ali Junejo), while going to work, explores his sexuality and falls in love with a transgender woman. Both dynamics, Mumtaz leaving her job and Haider getting attached to someone else, did not go well together, and their marriage started to fall apart.

This reminds me of sociologist G.P. Murdock’s definition of marriage, that it exists only when the economic and sexual functions are united into one relationship (Murdock 1949). It is most relevant in societies like the one Munu ba comes from, where women are highly dependent on men. Her family and everyone around her is more concerned about his work than anything else because it is believed that the groom can only provide for her and her future generations. However, the sexual aspect mentioned by Murdock hardly matters in these societies. Here no one discusses it and always considers it to be part of a private and secret conversation where there is never a mention of sexuality or sexually transmitted diseases, which is a different topic altogether.  Nevertheless, it is common for society to expect offspring from a married couple shortly after marriage, but never inquire about their sexual preferences or desires before uniting them into the institution of marriage. This led us to contemplate the notion that marriages can involve various obscured desires and sexualities, and how they are used to conceal and shape one’s identity. It makes me wonder why our societies never inquire about anyone’s sexuality before marriage, and the marriages took place with an assumption that people around us are heterosexual and no other sexualities exist. That is why we often find individuals like Haider in many Indian families, who become involved in marriages while their desires exist elsewhere. Furthermore, society itself takes the initiative in erasing these obscured identities, for instance, during the time of tuloni biya (celebration of menarche) in Assam, girls as young as 12 years old are blessed to find a good husband in the future, and the possibility of same-sex relationships is completely erased.

I saw Munu Ba’s pictures on WhatsApp status, where she presents her new life to the people she knows. She looks completely different now, wearing a traditional ‘sador mekhela’ which was merely an aesthetic choice for her during her college farewell. After marriage, it has become a part of her skin. Her entire existence has come down to the aesthetics that college girls appreciate, with the traditional sador mekhela becoming her most frequently worn attire for the rest of her life, simply because society approves of it.

I recall an incident from last year when I asked her to go for a walk with me. She inquired if I would shoot for the film, as she wanted to dress up in something pretty if that was the case. We then went through her wardrobe and discussed the wide variety of dresses women can wear, while men are often left with simple pants and shirts. It was a moment of laughter. Now, upon reflection, it is ironic how after marriage, she will only be allowed to wear the sador mekhela in public places, despite having numerous options and a market that promotes them. Even women who wear salwar kameez after marriage face judgment. Munu Ba left behind all her pretty clothes with her sister and has narrowed down her choices to just two, much like a man’s limited options. What causes this difference? Why does marriage restrict women to certain types of clothing? Is it to preserve the family’s honour which is thought to be attached to women’s bodies or to signify that the newlywed woman is no longer available to other men? Thus, the sador mekhela serves as a marker of her identity, which then becomes her identity for the rest of her life.

Upon seeing pictures of Munu ba with strangers, who were initially unknown to her and still to me, I started pondering why women are expected to completely uproot their lives and adapt to a new environment. They must invest time and effort into understanding and integrating with a new set of people, all because of the institution of marriage. What is it about marriage that makes women believe and accept these expectations? Murdock stated, ‘Marriage involves residential cohabitation, and it serves as the foundation of the nuclear family’ (Murdock 1949). However, why does marriage predominantly require women to compromise and prioritize men’s comfort? This cohabitation feels obligatory and forced, leaving very few options if the individuals involved grow detached or bored with each other. Women face severe blame if their marriage doesn’t work out.

During a conversation with a married female friend, I asked about the presence of love and affection in her marriage. She responded, ‘shayad nahi hai, bas kitabon me rakhe ek phool ki tarah hai, pehle acha laga toh kitab me rakh diya, ab woh sukh gaya hai, par use kitab se alag karna mushkil hai kyunki it is now a part of the book‘ (“Perhaps it doesn’t exist. It’s like a flower preserved within the pages of a book. Initially, it brought joy, so it was placed within the book. Now it has withered away yet separating it from the book is difficult because it has become a part of it.”)

Social anthropologists in Western societies have emphasized the significance of personal relationships between men and women in their roles as husbands and wives. This emphasis arises from the value placed on individuality in these societies. However, in Indian society, greater importance is given to religious and socio-cultural obligations, and the personal happiness or preferences of individuals are given the least significance (Ruwali 2018). The sacramental concept of Hindu marriage prioritizes the principle of familism as supreme and primary, with the interests, needs, and happiness of individuals considered secondary to the welfare of the family and community. Karve also observed a similar perspective, stating that in India, marriage is regarded as a sacrament, and it is considered a sacred duty for Hindu parents to ensure that their children receive this sacrament before they pass away (Karve 1965).

It doesn’t only involve two individuals but rather an entire family from both sides, making it more of a union between two families rather than just two individuals. That’s why Munu’s parents went to the groom’s home and invited them to their own house. Before inviting them, Munu’s father hastily took a loan from an informal sector to build proper washrooms, ensuring the groom’s family would feel comfortable during their visit. When I used to ask my uncle about building the washroom earlier, he would often say, ‘I will build it for your sister’s marriage,’ and he followed through. He saved a significant amount of money for her wedding, and my grandmother would often say that a father always works hard to earn for his daughter’s marriage and spends everything on it. But why is that? She would further add, ‘because a daughter’s marriage happens only once.’ I remember Munu Ba said the same thing. Marriage is considered a one-time event, and people feel obligated to uphold it.

Although divorce is becoming more accepted in cities in India, it is still hardly acceptable in rural societies like Munu’s. Munu Ba mentioned a woman from their village, who recently divorced her husband, ran away to the town, and started living with one of her aunts simply because she couldn’t bear to hear people’s comments. Even Munu herself believes that most of the blame lies with the woman, as the wife must please her husband and compromise, ‘dhora erar majot soliboloi xikibo lagibo‘ This conditioning is so strong that even Munu ba can’t consider divorce if something bad happens to her in her in-laws’ house. In her village, it is believed that a woman’s honour is closely tied to her marriage. There is a prevailing notion that once she enters a man’s household, she becomes ‘belogor’ (someone else’s), implying that she may have been touched by a man, and consequently, other men or their families may not wish to accept her as their daughter-in-law. It implies that her body becomes the property of the first person. This means that after the divorce, no one will marry her again, and she will have to live alone for the rest of her life.

Dominant societal perspectives suggest that a woman’s worth is solely defined by the institution of marriage, so the collapse of her marital union is seen as an indictment of her entire being, rendering her life seemingly devoid of worth. She finds herself marginalized within her village community, for she dared to challenge the norm and assert her autonomy. Anyone who dares to forge a connection with her is met with derision and scorn, as the villagers eagerly interweave the tapestry of her existence with the spectre of divorce, saying, “suwali joni aagor poraye enekuwa aasil”  (From childhood days, this girl has been marred by flaws.)

These expectations are disheartening as they restrict and limit the aspirations of women like Munu ba, who had dreams of becoming a designer but believed she couldn’t afford to have such dreams. She once said, ‘Babu, I don’t have any dreams. I only wish to get married so that my parents can stop worrying about it.’ She is still 25 years old, she should have been allowed to dream beyond marriage, without having to consider her parents’ concerns and expectations. She further said “It creates a great deal of tension for a girl regarding marriage, and sometimes I wish I had been born as a man. Men seem to possess a sense of identity that doesn’t require them to marry when their parents ask them to. They have the freedom to establish their careers first and then consider marriage. However, I wonder about my own identity as a woman. Does being a woman, itself constitute an identity? What does identity truly mean?”

References:

Kapadia, K.M. (1966). Marriage and Family in India. Mumbai: Oxford University Press.

Murdock, G.P. (1949). Social Structure. New York: Macmillan.

Karve, Irawati. (1965). Kinship Organization in India. Asia Publishing House.

Ruwali, Priyanka N. (2018). The Changing Scenario of Marriage in India: A Sociological Analysis. Journal of Archarya Narendra Dev Research Institute. https://andjournal.in/2018/11/09/the-changing-scenario-of-marriage-in-india-a-sociological-analysis/

Sadiq, Salim. (2022) Joyland.

^[i] In Assamese, Ba or Baideu is commonly used to address elder females including sisters, cousins, and teachers. It is a respectable and affectionate term of address. Here it refers to an elder cousin.

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Film and theatre enthusiast Sanjib Kalita is currently pursuing post-graduation in History from Hindu College, University of Delhi. His interest lies in the intersection of film and gender, examining them through the lens of history while taking the society and the economy into account.