The short film “Geeli Pucchi” weaves together the lives of two women who share striking similarities in terms of their struggles with sexuality and unsuccessful marriages, yet starkly different in terms of caste, class, appearance, privileges, mannerisms, and life experiences. The story further delves into the intricate realms of love, heartbreak, casteism, discrimination, sexism, revenge, and expectations to leave the audience with an intense story. The cinematography lets the viewer peek through a kaleidoscope of perspectives, refracted through the multifaceted lens of intersectionality. The film even as it engages with difficult questions of caste privilege and sexuality resonates with a broader audience.
The two focal points of the film are women who come from divergent ends of the social spectrum in India. Bharti Mandal, hailing from a marginalized caste, finds herself thwarted in her pursuit of a basic entry-level data operator position, despite her qualifications and abilities. Eventually, the coveted role is handed to Priya Sharma, who is from a privileged Brahmanical background but whose qualifications pale in comparison. As the plot unfolds, a profound connection blossoms between them, evolving from friendship to romance. While Priya’s pre-existing marriage was a barrier, Bharti revealing herself to be a Dalit proves to be the actual reason for the end of the romance. Despite the silence that envelopes this heart-wrenching parting, its reverberations echo through the narrative. In the aftermath of this sudden distance, Bharti realizes the futility of her affection for Priya and thus advices Priya to seek solace in motherhood and domesticity, offering a semblance of balance in her matrimonial life. Subsequently, Bharti extends her advice to Priya’s family to not send her back to the office as Priya is now a mother who should take care of herself and her child, thus steering the course of Priya’s professional life. The film ends with Bharti getting her dream job, an elusive triumph, contrasting her fruitless quest for love.
Bharti strives to liberate herself from the vicious cycle of adversities that engulf her daily existence. Her aspirations, as lofty as the upper floors of her workplace, reflect her desire to ascend the professional ladder. She is portrayed to be almost ignorant of the prevalent caste discrimination in professional spheres. As she persistently enquires about the job on the upper floor, symbolizing not just a higher position but also an upper echelon of professional life, her superior’s retort strikes a dissonant chord. Cryptically, he alludes to the existence of intangible barriers beyond qualifications and expertise, a veiled reference to the weight of “other” considerations, perhaps rooted in her appearance, and more profoundly, her Dalit identity.
“We are Dalits. Table kursi par khana milega, table kursi wali naukri nahi. Waha tak pahuchte hue kahi tum jali pari naa milo“.
This quote from a co-worker is an attempt to console Bharti as well as advise her. It is a plea to accept the status quo, averting the repercussions of rebellion. However, her caste identity is only one facet of the labyrinth she navigates at work. Bharti finds herself relegated to the lower floor, indulging in manual work. Being the only woman, she is frequently ridiculed for not only her Dalit identity but also her ‘masculine’ demeanour in terms of dressing up, profession, appearance, and mannerisms. A particularly cruel jest prophesies that soon she would sprout a moustache. The Combahee River Collective would describe this as a perfect example of intersectional discrimination where, in the same breath, Bharti is being told to be quiet for the sake of being ‘ladylike’ and to be less objectionable to men around her, be it Dalit men or men of higher castes.[i] Such situations carve a painful paradox, where one’s identity becomes a source of shame, bearing witness to the formidable power of intersectional discrimination.
On the flip side of this intricate narrative, Priya’s high caste and conventionally attractive appearance give an invisible but very significant help in her professional life. Curiously, her job interview did not even consist of technical questions, but instead, hinged upon her display of Brahmanical know-about and palm reading. With the deck seemingly stacked in her favour, she experiences evident preferential treatment in the office. A birthday celebration unfurls for Priya, marked by a cake-cutting ceremony, a first within those office walls. Meanwhile, Bharti is deliberately excluded from the celebration, a reminder of her marginalized status. Additionally, the conversations around the construction of a dedicated female restroom only gained momentum with Priya’s arrival, underlining the profound shifts her presence invoked. To further emphasize Priya’s insulated existence, she is offered advice to refrain from going downstairs to avoid ‘weird’ people and the odour. This is symbolic of how Priya, an upper caste person, is being ‘protected’ from lower caste people and the realities faced by those lower on the social stratum. In the subtle orchestration of office dynamics, a larger narrative unfolds- one where the mere spectre of privilege can sway the balance of power and shield individuals from confronting the world’s gritty truths.
The interaction of caste dynamics and the pursuit of upward social mobility is demonstrated by Bharti’s choice to conceal her true identity of being a member of the Dalit community. Her choice is a testament to the immense pressure borne by individuals on the fringe of society, highlighted by her belief that concealing her caste background could boost her social and professional prospects. “Many of us use fake profiles and fake names to transact real desires,” and so did Bharti because she was scared how Priya would recoil from her if she knew about her caste.[ii] Her choice to don a mask of anonymity mirrors the stark reality of those who must navigate a world where identity can be a double-edged sword. In Bharti’s eyes, she is left with a stark binary choice – she could either be gay or Dalit, but the two cannot coexist without peril. Dhrubo Jyoti’s letters are a very similar portrayal of inter-caste and inter-class romance and could very well serve as a metaphor for the unsaid words that lie unspoken between Bharti and Priya.[iii] Their intimacy is steeped in silence, exchanged not through spoken language but through the silent language of the eyes, a connection that finds its release only in a geeli pucchi – a moment of intimacy amidst unspoken truths.
This theme of unforbidden love, as masterfully explored in Arundhati Roy’s work, finds a compelling resonance in the dynamics of internal struggles and private desires that underpin the narrative of the individuals as they navigate the consequences of transgressing societal norms.[iv] Much like Roy’s literary landscapes, the story of Bharti and Priya unfolds against the backdrop of rigid social hierarchies imposing boundaries on individuals, limiting their access to public spaces, opportunities, and rights. Bharti and Priya, both before and after the revelation of Bharti’s identity, share their ‘public space’ within the confines of their office. While Priya could have stopped interacting with Bharti altogether, she did not. However, ripples of the identity-reveal could be seen in Priya’s behaviour, be it the hesitation to even touch Bharti, or not inviting her to the birthday celebration. In contrast, the shifts in the private sphere take on an entirely different character. Before the identity reveal, Priya used Bharti’s house as a haven for exploring her sexuality as well as indulging in her gustatory desires, such as savouring chicken, a pleasure denied to her in her matrimonial abode. Even after becoming aware of Bharti’s Dalit identity, Priya continues to use Bharti’s house as a clandestine backdrop to have sex with her husband. This duality, wherein the same physical space is used for both, the exploration of her sexuality and then as a catalyst for her pregnancy and alienation from her true desires is a testament to the film’s brilliance. It unveils a complex interplay between the public and private realms, highlighting the intricacies of human relationships, desires, and the consequences of societal transgressions.
In the film, the protagonists are not painted in unequivocal shades of good or bad. Both the characters are, at their core, exquisitely human: imperfect and flawed. This film engages in grey areas thus blurring the distinctions between right and wrong. It is tempting to cast Priya as the antagonist because of her breaking Bharti’s heart, her almost annoyingly bubbly nature, her unacknowledged casteism, and the collateral damage inflicted on her husband and child as she grapples with her sexual identity. Yet, even Priya is a victim in her own right, wrestling with her sexuality, bearing the weight of a guilt-ridden existence, and holding herself accountable for the wreckage of her marriage and the loss of her professional identity. On the other side lies Bharti who conceals her identity out of societal compulsion, endures the agony of a shattered marriage following a heartbreaking miscarriage, navigates the harsh choices between career and love, and offers manipulative advice to Priya, steering her towards a life defined by domesticity. Bharti, too, is both a perpetrator and a victim. The dichotomy that frames the narrative hinges upon perspective, for it is this very vantage point that alters the contours of the plot. As the viewer’s lens shifts, the story transforms, revealing that right and wrong change with each observer’s gaze.
The film offers a visual feast. The scenes are not cut where they end, but linger on for a few more seconds giving an authentic touch to the storytelling. There has been a very clear stereotypical distinction between ‘masc’ and ‘fem’- slang for ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’, in the dynamics of two women exploring their same-sex attraction. Bharti is typically portrayed as the Dalit who can step across social boundaries, breaking the box of conventionality, be it her professional ambitiousness, her rebellion against sexism, her tomboyish attires, her forthright manner of speech, her ‘influence’ on Priya or even her drinking liquor after the ‘break-up’. These portrayals can end up reinforcing stereotypes to the audience who might take such depictions at face value.
Bharti is shown to be free with her sexuality. However, the filmmakers could have introduced some depth by showcasing how she is only “safe and free, till she is not ‘caught’ engaging in something ‘not appropriate’ or ‘permitted’.” [v] Bharti’s open embrace of her sexuality remains private, known only to herself and her partners, veiled from the prying eyes of the world. Her access to a safe private space becomes the conduit for her sexual self-expression. Even for Priya, a woman in a heterosexual marriage, the freedom in terms of either exploring her sexuality or marital sex is only achieved once she has access to this specific ‘private space’. So, Priya’s own house is a public space for her in some terms while Bharti’s house proves to be more of a ‘private space’ for her. So maybe, spaces are less about their geographical constraints and more about the emotional and mental extent to which a person can express themselves. Bachelard explores a similar idea that our experience of space is deeply influenced by our emotions, memories, and psychological associations with a place and that the spaces we inhabit are not just physical, but also mental and emotional.[vi] In contrast, Priya is portrayed as the perfect modern Indian woman- modestly dressed, soft-spoken, obedient, almost smart, and submissive. It is almost like she was the only victim in this story. At face value, the story seems to indicate to the general audience that there were ‘human’ faults on both sides, thus disregarding the initial intersectional argument of discrimination. The filmmakers must take into consideration that caste and queerness can go together only when dealt with delicately. “Caste is informed by many particularities and specifics. And many Dalit people are still formulating what “queer” means for jaati identities.”[vii] Thus, a stereotypical representation of a queer Dalit can be counterproductive to the film’s aim of bringing awareness to intersectional discrimination and to normalize the interaction of queerness and caste dynamics.
Priya’s character, portrayed as a naïve woman with her bubbly nature and limited knowledge of sexuality, is beautifully crafted. The recurring symbol of pompoms adorning her scooter serves as a powerful motif, representing her childlike innocence and, simultaneously is commented upon to be problematic once she transitions into motherhood. These pompoms also symbolize her sexuality, a facet of herself that needs to be ‘discarded’ once she is married, to lead a ‘normal’ life. The interactions between the two characters are perfectly directed be it the scooter ride, the walks, the kiss, or the ‘break-up’. The scooter ride becomes a potent symbol of how someone’s restriction can be another’s privilege as, while Bharti walks back to her house, Priya ‘has’ to use the scooter to maintain the façade of her class and caste. At the film’s conclusion, Bharti gets the job she always wanted. In the same scene, she comments on how the office is too dirty and smelly for Priya to work there; the same reason as why Priya did not go downstairs in the office in the initial scenes.
[i] The Combahee River Collective Statement – Yale University.
https://americanstudies.yale.edu/sites/default/files/files/Keyword%20Coalition_Readings.pdf
[ii] Jyoti, Dhrubo. A Letter to My Lover(s). Eleven Different Ways to Love.Penguin Random House. 2022.
[iii] Ibid
[iv] Roy, Arundhati. The God of Small Things. New Delhi: Indiaink. 1997.
[v] Borisa, Dhiren. City and Sexuality: An Auto-Ethnographic Storytelling of Geographies of Caste, Class and Queerness in Delhi. Geography and You.20 (4-5). 2020.
[vi] Bachelard, Gaston. The Poetics of Space. New York: Penguin Books. 2014.
[vii] Sahai, Aditya, and Akhil Kang. Guruswamy and Katju, Your Rainbow Doesn’t Hide Your Casteism. Akademi Mag. 2020.
https://www.akademimag.com/guruswamy-katju-rainbow-casteism.
Rashi Chauhan, a dedicated law student, extends her pursuits beyond the confines of legal studies. As an enthusiastic reader, content creator, writer, and artist, she weaves together a diverse tapestry of skills. Driven by a commitment to societal well-being, Rashi aspires to contribute meaningfully by examining and addressing social issues through the unique lens of media within the academic context.