Even with her limited screen time, Safina shows us several nuances to her character and subsequently, normalises Muslim women in metropolitan India.
Within
a week of its release, Gully
Boy has already established its cult status as the first of many
in Bollywood.
Inspired
by the underground rap movement of Dharavi and the rags-to-riches
stories of rappers Naezy and Divine, Gully Boy follows the highs and
lows of aspiring artist, Ranveer Singh as Murad Ahmed. As powerful as
Murad’s character is, Alia
Bhatt as Safina
Firdausi, who plays Murad’s love interest, comes as a breath of
fresh air in Bollywood’s portrayal of Muslim women.
Given
Bollywood’s hit-and-miss approach to representing Muslims and
Muslim women, I am excited to see a strong, bold and multidimensional
character whose Muslim identity is not – as a rare instance –
used to evoke emotions, to prod the storyline or to add a cultural
element to the story. Neither is it exaggerated. Safina’s portrayal
departs from the one-dimensional (and often negative) stereotype of
Muslim women that Bollywood cannot seem to shake off, even in
contemporary movies as recent as 2018.
Using
a tried-and-tested formula of evoking patriotic emotions, Sehmat from
Raazi – despite being a fictionalised story that is based on
real-life events – feels too familiar. She reminds me of Zooni Ali
Beg from the 2006 release Fanaa. The same chest-thumping jingoism
enforced by song and dance in the first half of the movie, and a
confrontation between the protagonist and terrorist husband in the
climax. I find the scene in which Sehmat visits a dargah right before
poisoning her brother-in-law particularly disconcerting and
unwarranted.
The
other extreme is an anti-national and malicious character. Again,
inspired by real-life events, Haseena Parkar’s role as Dawood
Ibrahim’s sister, in the film Haseena Parkar, is one-dimensional.
Apart from her overnight transformation from a naïve housewife to an
immoral accomplice, we know nothing about the character or
motivations of Haseena Parkar. A mere burkha and a few menacing looks
are enough to tell us that this woman had once terrorised Nagpada.
Even
though Safina can be called “terrorising” of a different kind –
sending meek boys into hysterics and beating up girls who get too
close to Murad – she does so with a conviction that surpasses
Haseena Parkar’s opening scene that was meant to elicit fear.
Neither
is Safina’s hijab used as a symbol of oppression or as a prop for
the story, like in Secret Superstar. Sure, she wears a hijab, but
with the same ease as her headphones and jeans. When Safina marches
to the tune of ‘Azadi’, when she takes the situation in her
control after breaking up with Murad, when she tells Murad that he
can dream and do whatever his heart desires, as she is by his side –
all these show a Muslim woman (or irrespective of religion, a woman)
whose empowerment and confidence speaks to me in a way that Secret
Superstar and Lipstick Under My Burkha don’t.
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