I know you love me; that’s why I forgive you despite the grave sins of your species.
To the little boy who always looks for me, particularly when the heavens open up and shed copious tears, I want to tell you how fond I am of you. Because I know how fond you are of me!
I know how deeply you admire me, how much mirth I bring you, how you squeal in delight, and how you beckon your mama to come over and take a look at me whenever you spot me outside your window. And I haven’t forgotten how you once made me a paper boat to ride on, even though the puddle is to me what the meadow is to you.
Let me tell you something you don’t know – I did jump on top of that boat, even if briefly, once you stepped inside your home. I knew the labour and affection your little, soft beautiful hands had put into fashioning that little piece of art. How could I ignore it?
First, a Complaint
Do you know what we frogs think of your ilk, though?
Well, I am constantly aware you are a child of the people who construct hideous buildings, taking over our homes and breeding grounds – ponds, marshes, swamps, wetlands – preventing so many of us from being born.
You are a progeny of the species that continually decimates forests and clears grass, shrubs, and other vegetation, replacing them with hard, dry, ugly concrete. You eat well and live well; but you neither let us poor beings eat nor find shelter.
When humans aren’t covering up the water bodies we call home, they are busy choking our ponds and pools with sewage, effluents, and indescribable filth. Indeed, the degradation of those water bodies embodies the rot of your civilization, or whatever it is you call your way of life.
The walls your species builds (and I know you are bloody well good at building those) break up our interconnected habitats. They restrict our ability to move between feeding and breeding grounds and find mates. So, while you have these shady apps which allow you to ‘hook up’ with new partners, habitat fragmentation forces us frogs to retreat into small, isolated pockets where mating with close relatives becomes unavoidable. Yes, it shames us as well.
And the ones among us that do survive the genocide are often run over by speeding vehicles driven by nuts behind the wheel. Or worse still, eaten up by low-IQ gluttons who know not how precious we are to the ecosystem.
Alas, we always helped you. We ate up the pests that troubled you, reducing the spread of malaria and dengue fever. But suffering is all we ever got at your hands.
We may not be creatures of great majesty or magnificence like your beloved tiger, but aren’t we creatures of God that also deserve a place on this planet?
I know, I know whose child you are and what you may become yourself when you grow up but I can’t help forgiving you. Because as I said, I know you love me. Even if only a little. Who knows, when you become a father yourself, your child may be deprived of the delight of spotting one of us, except in books or on television. So, look at me, look at me, all you want, for perhaps, in the future, you shan’t.
We may not be creatures of great majesty or magnificence like your beloved tiger, but aren’t we creatures of God that also deserve a place on this planet?
That difficult-to-decipher deadpan look on my face is not accidental, little one. It is a pensive look, that of a frog philosopher. And I wear that look because your affection makes me sigh and smile in equal measure.
It’s the look that says I forgive you, but I won’t forget who you are and where you come from.
A random rant on the lehenga choli and sartorial stereotypes by a lehenga-less old lass.
Image credit: Painting by artist Navneet Parikh via Pinterest
My gym in Kochi – a city I moved to about ten months ago – recently hosted a dandiya event. Now, I’ll be honest. I have only ever seen these events in Bollywood movies. I was never invited to a dandiya event before and hence, had never attended one. So, when I first saw the invite, I was filled with delight…and dread. Delight because it was a chance to try something new. Dread because I knew I didn’t have the sartorial accoutrement for the dance, i.e. lehenga choli AKA ghagra choli AKA chaniya choli (your choice of name would depend on your place of origin).
But then, I ended up not going after all. I didn’t go because I don’t own a lehenga choli. (I also didn’t go because my gym mates are organised into invisible and exclusive little clubs, entry to which is contingent upon speaking Malayalam – which, incidentally, I don’t).
And thank God I didn’t. When photos of the event were shared on the gym WhatsApp group, EVERY woman had turned up in a lehenga choli. It was like the lehenga choli was such an easy-breezy outfit, all anyone had to do was stick a hand inside their wardrobe and… hey presto! There it was, with its swish and swirl. In a fraction of a second. The blink of an eye. Like an act of conjuring.
Those who didn’t know the magic could stay out in the cold. And so I did.
The ‘Heroine’s’ Vaunted Outfit
I can’t recall which movie or female actor made us want to covet the lehenga choli, catapulting it to an almost lofty status. Obviously, I am not talking about women from parts of the country who have always traditionally donned the lehenga choli – such as Rajasthan or Gujarat. I am talking about women from the southern or eastern parts of the country having become so enamoured of the outfit nowadays that they break with tradition and wear it on their engagement or wedding day (even if everything else, from kundli match to groom with a stable IT job remains bang on tradition).
Was it Aishwarya Rai – in a role as my namesake – in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam in the foot-tapping ‘Dholi Taaro Dhol Baaje’? Or perhaps in ‘Aankhon ki Gustakhiyan’ from the same movie? Or, could it have been Kareena Kapoor in a peachy lehenga choli with a peachy smile as the dim-witted Poo in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham?
I don’t know who marked it on their fashion calendar, if such a thing exists. I didn’t.
All I know is that be it on Instagram or TikTok, every fashionista worth her salt today seems to have posed in a lehenga choli at least once.
Countless Bollywood actresses have sported one and flashed a coquettish smile at the delighted paparazzi, all shimmer and sparkle, feminine mystique wrapped in metres of ethnic extravagance.
Its ubiquity on social media has made the lehenga choli synonymous with Indian femininity. If you are an Indian trans woman today, for instance, preening in a lehenga choli seems almost a rite of passage.
Where to Wear it?
Good question, right?
The lack of a lehenga choli got me thinking. Was it just me who had no place to go (except that stray invite to a gym dandiya event) and hence no reason to invest in a lehenga choli?
I texted an Uttarakhandi friend asking if she owned one and when she had worn it last. At her wedding nearly a decade ago, she told me. Not since then.
‘It doesn’t have much utility’, she texted back. There weren’t many places you could wear it to.
I couldn’t agree more.
For an outfit whose starting price (at least for the fancier sets) hovers around India’s average monthly salary, the lehenga choli offers dismally low returns on investment. You can’t even wear it to a formal dinner (unless you don’t mind the sly sniggers).
So, why the fuss?
Its ubiquity on social media has made the lehenga choli synonymous with Indian femininity. If you are an Indian trans woman today, for instance, preening in a lehenga choli seems almost a rite of passage.
The Code’s a Load
Why are you making such a hullabaloo for nothing, Miss Sen, you might ask. You could just have worn your salwar kameez to the dandiya event, been the odd one out for an hour or so, and that would have been that.
Well, I just couldn’t muster the courage to. And that’s why I am writing this article. Because of dandiya’s tacit but watertight connection with lehenga cholis, standing as the odd one out in an all-lehenga choli-wearing gathering was just something I couldn’t get myself to do. It is a code, just not written down anywhere.
The suit and tie are associated with the elite, respectability and ‘civilisation’.
The ‘kings’ of the Gulf states are usually associated with the traditional thobe.
Torn jeans and tattoos are associated with rebellion and counterculture.
The salwar kameez and dupatta is associated with ‘good girls’ in south Asia.
Fishnet stockings are associated with slutty girls.
Saffron robes are associated with renunciation and spiritual authority in India.
Never mind that President Trump (and much of the western leadership) is always dressed in a tie-suit. Yet he shamelessly bombed little girls in Iran, and continues enabling a genocide in occupied Palestine. Every day. Years on end.
Never mind that the heads of the Arab family dictatorships are as aligned with the West as are oxpeckers with lions.
Never mind that youngsters wearing ripped jeans and tattoos in India could be caste Hindus, pumped up on years of Hindutva fodder.
Never mind that the girl in salwar kameez depot could be promiscuous and the one in fishnet stockings just bohemian.
And never mind that the perennially saffron-clad chief minister of Uttar Pradesh is as far from renunciation as is Bharat from becoming Swachh Bharat.
One’s Habit May be a Matter of Habit
Moreover, many people continue wearing the clothes they’ve always worn because they simply don’t want to give up dressing in a particular way. Because dressing otherwise is odd for them. A bit like how I conformed by choosing not to stand out in a salwar kameez in a lehenga-wearing crowd.
Of course, deviating from convention can be rewarding too. Judge Andrew Napolitano, referring to ex-al-Qaeda terrorist and Syrian President Ahmed al-Sharaa, remarked, ‘Now it’s in US interest to get him a Brooks Brothers suit and to trim his beard and give him a visa card.’
And never mind that the perennially saffron-clad chief minister of Uttar Pradesh is as far from renunciation as is Bharat from becoming Swachh Bharat.
In other words, clothes are often less about self-expression than the comfort of conformity. And they don’t always define the people wearing them in the way our South Asian brains have been wired to understand.
P.S.: I am not against the lehenga choli. I might just invest in one in the near future. Not necessarily for a dandiya event though. Maybe I’ll just break the rule and wear it to a family dinner, sniggers and smirks notwithstanding.
AI-generated image for western readers who still haven’t googled what a lehenga choli is.
I am also telling you why I like to share these useless facts and with whom.
A potpourri of the useless
Oh, there are several of those. Just as 80% of people in the world (no, that’s not a statistic I am citing, I just made that up based on assumption) love junk food even though it’s completely useless, there’s something deliciously flighty and frivolous about sharing random facts that mean nothing to anyone.
Here’s my list of five favourite facts.
1) Bata is not an Indian brand. It’s a Czech brand headquartered in Switzerland.
I like to share this with people who purportedly love Swadeshi and never strayed from a Bata showroom anytime they, or their family, needed footwear. And yet can’t help the fleeting twinkle in their eyes and pleased chuckle on their lips on learning of its exotic foreign origins.
2) Majnun of Laila-Manjun fame is not actually Majnun. His real name was Qays.
I like to reveal this to unsuspecting romantic fools who’ve been forever enamoured of this tragic tale of star-crossed lovers, but never knew the hero’s real name. The additional piece of knowledge I like to flex on them is that Qays became known as Majnun after he obsessively fell in love with Laila; Majnun in Arabic is a passive participle meaning one possessed by jinns or a madman. What delight to see that slight bewilderment my Arabic language trivia elicits from them!
3) Puppies of the same litter can have multiple fathers. Elephants remain pregnant for up to 22 months.
Fun gets funnier with these fun animal facts. Mama dogs are capable of superfecundation which means they can mate with different daddy dogs, and different sperm from each can fertilise different eggs, leading to the birth of half-siblings at the same time. Elephants are so grand and so are their pregnancies. Twenty-two months! (And some human ladies thought nine months were too long). I like to show this bit of trivia off to random people just to watch their jaws drop. As though only human mamas had superpowers. Next time, read a ‘hmph!’ into that ‘woof’ and a ‘tch tch!’ into that trumpet.
4) Humans are still evolving. One indication is that they can now digest lactose past infancy.
No, that’s not a new trait. It’s been around for thousands of years but wasn’t a common trait among prehistoric humans. This one, again, I like to fling at people who’ll secretly marvel at my scientific knowledge (I read it a few years ago in a newspaper purely by chance) even though they’ll still wear a deadpan, blink-blink Piers Morgan look that says…nothing?
5) Manu Sharma, the epitome of India’s ‘Epstein Class’ and convicted murderer of Jessica Lal, has changed his identity. He is now associated with the company behind Indri, the award-winning single-malt whisky brand. From ignominy to incognito; only the rich could pull it off!
My teenage son broke this nugget of gossip… ahem! I mean, fact. I didn’t believe him at first. But then I fact-checked and verified it, and since then, I’ve been looking for incredulous people to feed this news of Bollywood-style personality reinvention to. This is a relatively new useless fact on the list. So, I am still deciding what kind of people I can share it with.
Many thanks to my beloved WordPress audience for reading my complete list of completely useless facts. 🙂
Today is Halloween 2026. I have always been fascinated by this Celtic festival and its modern-day incarnation in which horror, humour, and Christian tradition come together and do a little pas de trois. Since the celebration weaves in both fun and fear, here’s a spoofy, spooky description of what nations would be if they were ghosts.
P.S.: Any horror film/book lover worth their salt knows that ghosts, like humans, come in different forms and shapes.
Israel the Ghoul
A ghoul, unimaginably foul and frightful. This vile creature treacherously traps its victims, feeds on their blood and flesh, and revels in death, disaster and destruction.
USA, the Ogre
Malicious, massive, and monstrous, the life force of this creature resides outside its body, in the Israel Lobby. Weaken the Lobby and the Ogre suffers a debilitating injury.
UK & Western Europe, the Demonic Entities
Minions under the control of a malignant warlock (the Ogre also doubles as a warlock), speaking and acting exactly as their master intends.
Saudi Arabia, UAE, Jordan, Kuwait, Bahrain, the Zombies
Soul-dead for decades, these evil flesh-eating creatures often go on killing sprees, never mustering the courage to go near other scary creatures, though.
Iran & Yemen, the Vengeful Ghosts
Victims of unceasing perfidy and tyranny, these ghosts have grown to be so fearful and formidable that the Ogre, the Ghoul, the Zombies, and the Demonic Entities are in cahoots against them.
China, the Watcher
A mysterious spirit that quietly oversees the household of nations, protecting it if treated well and plotting vengeance if not.
Pakistan, the Vampire
This creature is as deadly as it gets, flashing winsome smiles by day and sucking beings (the IMF, the World Bank) dry by night.
Russia, the Benign Spirit
This cumbersome creature is surprisingly restrained, despite its fearsome appearance. The Ogre doesn’t take it seriously enough, and hence the war drags on.
Ukraine, the Goblin
Avaricious, vicious and spiteful, this creature will go to enormous lengths to torment and bedevil its enemy, the Benign Spirit.
India
The only non-ghost on the list. This one’s a failed, almost comical exorcist that tries to ward off many a spirit, sometimes trying to please the ghosts, at other times, human beings, but ends up peeving both human and ghost.
Share a few recent shots from your camera roll, no context needed.
Random vignettes from my life in Kochi…
A rare idol of a sleeping Lord Shiva at the Kochi Folklore Museum, a private collection. (You would almost think the inadvertently placed cup of tea was meant for Him :))Kathakali costume Finally a Mother Goddess who looks like a real woman, not divine perfection 🙂Whole grilled fish at a restaurantWhole crab on a bed of vegetables & spaghettiGnocchiKnowledge can be found in the unlikeliest of places. Here, Goddess Saraswati, the goddess of learning, at a cafe. My first-ever visit to a Jewish SynagogueThe Paradesi Synagogue in Kochi’s Jew Town is the oldest, active synagogue inIndia and the British Commonwealth.Home-made rice paper prawn dumplingsA Kathakali performer on stage
William Shakespeare, the mysterious “Bard of Avon”, said that some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
Things of sentimental value I own (although ownership is not exactly the relationship I have with some of these objects) can be cleanly organised into the above three categories. So, there are things that truly have sentimental value, things that have achieved sentimental value, and things upon which sentimental value has been thrust.
Let me begin with the first I own (such a significant verb, own, in a world where what one possesses—or doesn’t—often defines one’s worth) and go on to the others.
Real Sentimental Value
The real things of sentimental value for me are the usual suspects.
These things are special because they either belonged to loved ones who passed away a long time ago, because they are associated with my childhood, or simply because they are old and serve as witnesses to history for me.
My sister’s fuchsia pink diary of poems. She died by suicide at age 23, nearly 23 years ago.
My father’s Montblanc pens, his beautiful red Kantha-embroidered top sheet. He passed away of a brain hemorrhage three months after my sister’s suicide.
My grandfather’s towel, a blue, aquatic life-themed towel. He passed away peacefully at age 95 in 2015.
A yellow cotton dress whose fabric was given to me by a very good friend. She died in a freak accident a day after Christmas in 2020.
My mother’s wedding sari, a crimson Benarasi adorned with gold buti motifs.
My doll, dating back to 1992, and teddy bears and a small collection of other soft toys collected over the years.
Acquired Sentimental Value
These are intangible things I don’t claim physical ownership of. These are songs, movies and books I don’t always think of but nevertheless value greatly. They’ve created a home in my head and are special primarily because of their nostalgic value.
Songs coloured with the zeitgeist of childhood (songs and films from the year 1992 are most special because my memories are vivid from that point in time).
Movies drenched with memories of times that will never return. Some of the kitschy Hindi ones are particularly close to my heart.
Books by Enid Blyton such as The Naughtiest Girl series, The Wishing-Chair series, and Thirteen O’Clock and Other Stories among others, are instantly reminiscent of those days when one didn’t have a care in the world. The Sidney Sheldon novels, likewise, can take me back to my early teens in the blink of an eye.
Bestowed Sentimental Value
These are objects I have purchased; they don’t have sentimental value in their own right. But because they evoke memories of my childhood, I have accorded them their sentimental value.
Reprinted versions of Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha comics that I read in my childhood.
Vintage, second-hand Chandamama magazines that a very intellectual and witty seller of vintage books from Mysore helps me procure.
I think I need to work on my attachment to physical objects. There’s no doubt I am deeply, profoundly fond of all sorts of things because of their associations with people or times I cherish.
For now, though, I am content holding on to them and protecting them with my life.
The last of this three-part series on the vanishing treasures of Hindu-Muslim syncretism in Bollywood traces the rise and demise of the “Muslim Social”, a genre that is important because of the space and freedom it accorded to the minority community.
“The Muslim Social” is a term given to a sub-genre of drama in Hindi cinema that portrayed the social and cultural lives of Muslims in India. From exclusively chronicling the tragedies and triumphs of the Khawas (elite Muslims) to depicting the anxieties and aspirations of the Awaam (common Muslims), the “Muslim Social”, on close examination, can be seen as a mirror to the Indian Muslim experience since 1947.
Sohrab Modi’s Pukar (1939), based on the Mughal Emperor Jahangir’s legendary sense of justice, is usually regarded as having been a precursor of the genre. The next notable film of this type, Mehboob Khan’s Najma (1943) was a tragic romance that emphasised the importance of modern education and thought among Muslims. In many ways, Najma was a prototype of the post-independence Muslim Social. Its restrained romance between coy lovers and exotification of the world of well-to-do aristocratic Muslims was replicated in subsequent Muslim Social films. This idealised bubble-like space filled with Lakhnavitehzeeb (culture and etiquette of Lucknow), Urdu shayari (poetry), sherwani-wearing men and sharara-wearing women became the defining feature of the Muslim Social in subsequent decades. Movies such as Humayun (1945), Shahjehan (1946), and Mirza Ghalib (1954) may be regarded as quintessential films of the genre.
Video Credit: Channel Hindi Classics on YouTube
The High Point
The Muslim Social continued to flourish in post-independence India. Muslim film-makers, script writers, music directors, and lyricists such as Mehboob Khan, Khwaja Ahmad Abbas, Abrar Alvi, Kamal Amrohi, K. Asif, Sahir Ludhianvi, Shakeel Badayuni, and Majrooh Sultanpuri lent visual and lyrical splendour, giving an otherworldly feel and flavour to the films. The 1960s and early 70s were the high point for the genre with a string of successes such as Barsaat ki Raat (1960), Mughal-e-Azam (1960), Chaudhvin ka Chand (1960), Mere Mehboob (1963), Bahu Begum (1967), Mere Huzoor (1968), and Mehboob ki Mehndi (1971). Similar in their portrayal of Nawabi characters, most of these films had a powerful social message and prominent female characters navigating the complexities of enclosed worlds, frequently facing the predicament of choosing between the ignominy of love and honour of the family.
It must be noted that the 1950s and 1960s found a ready audience for such films because large sections of the population understood the language of these films, i.e. Urdu. Moreover, the feudal Muslim elite in North India’s collective memory remained fresh. It mattered little till this point that the portrayals were somewhat far-fetched and fanciful.
The Muslim Social reached its zenith with Kamal Amrohi’s magnum opus Pakeezah (1972). An aesthetic feast with its architectural grandeur, mellifluous songs, gorgeous costumes, and chaste Urdu dialogues, this epic romance is rightly regarded as an epitome of the classic Muslim Social.
While many movies of the genre featured theTawaif(courtesan) as a stock character,Pakeezahcatapulted her into the centre of the narrative, as did Muzaffar Ali’sUmrao Jaan(1981) nearly a decade later.
Blazing a Trail
The 1970s ushered in the New-Age Social with films like Dastak (1970) and Garm Hawa (1973). Written and directed by Rajinder Singh Bedi, Dastak masterfully captures the anguish of newly-weds Hamid and Salma who deal with daily knocks on their door intended for the previous occupant of the house, a famous Mujrewali (nautch girl).
The M.S. Sathyu-directed Garm Hawa takes a look at the dilemma faced by Muslims in post-Partition North India as illustrated by Salim Mirza, an Agra-based shoe manufacturer, who is torn between moving to Pakistan and staying back in an increasingly hostile homeland. Based on a short story by Urdu writer Ismat Chughtai, Garm Hawa was a masterpiece that not only blazed a trail for its own genre, but went on to be celebrated as a forerunner of avant-garde cinema in Bollywood.
Video Credit: Indikino Edutainment on YouTube
Muslim Socials of the 1980s began veering towards art-house cinema. Films like Sagar Sarhadi’s Bazaar (1982) and Muzaffar Ali’s Anjuman (1986) shed light on the socio-economic problems afflicting the Muslim community, including the sexual exploitation of women and violation of workers’ rights. But there were exceptions in the form of Umrao Jaan and B.R. Chopra’s Nikaah (1982) which harked back to the genre as it existed in the 1950s and 1960s.
Significantly, the early 1980s also marked the beginning of the end for the Muslim Social set in traditional Nawabi culture. Cast in this mould, a film like Deedar-E-Yaar (1982) sank without a trace.
Thus, the 1970s saw a shift in which the Muslim Social moved out of the classist cocoon of feudal privilege. Films of the 1980s continued to portray the bitter experiences of India’s socially marginalised, economically underprivileged Muslim community.
Nowhere is this characterisation more obvious than in Manmohan Desai’s Coolie (1982), which had a feisty porter, named Iqbal, fight for the rights of downtrodden workers.
This relegation of the hero’s social rank – from scion of aristocrats to son of plebeian parents – signaled the declining status of Indian Muslims in public life, as well as how they were popularly perceived.
The Brilliance of Dusk
By the late 1980s and early 90s, the space for the Muslim Social in commercial Hindi cinema had shrunk considerably. However, parallel cinema of this period produced several gems of the genre. Shorn of lilting qawwalis and regal sets, Saeed Akhtar Mirza’s iconic Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (1989) is a gritty portrayal of the life of petty criminal Salim Pasha, son of working-class parents, against the backdrop of a rapidly polarising Bombay.
Shyam Benegal’s critically acclaimed trilogy of films on Muslim women, Mammo (1994), Sardari Begum (1996) and Zubeidaa (2001) delved into diverse themes with a singular leitmotif: the plight of women doubly scorned on account of their gender and religious identity.
Another cinematic treasure of this period is Saeed Akhtar Mirza’s Naseem (1995). Featuring Kaifi Azmi as the eponymous protagonist’s grandfather, Naseem poignantly foregrounded the fears and frustrations of a lower-middle-class Muslim family against communal tensions that preceded the demolition of Babri Masjid.
Video Credit: Channel CinemasofIndia on YouTube
Decline
The Muslim Social practically faded into oblivion by the mid-1990s. By the late 1990s and early 2000s, Indian identity in mainstream Bollywood had become conflated with Punjabi/Hindu identity.
Besides, liberalisation and globalisation shaped an audience that was primarily interested in stories that reflected their upwardly mobile aspirations. This may partly explain the box-office success of movies about affluent characters, set in international locations such as Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (1995) and Dil Chahta Hai (2001). Bollywood, being a profit-driven industry, responded to the changed sensibilities and churned out films accordingly.
More importantly, the elements that had aided the success of the early Muslim Social – imagery of sprawling gardens, opulent havelis, splendid costumes, and bombastic Urdu dialogues – were perceived as affected and anachronistic. No wonder then, that movies like Pati Patni Aur Tawaif (1990), Sanam Bewafa (1991), and Bewaffa Se Waffa (1992) are considered kitschy and denied a place alongside their exalted predecessors. Such was the decline of these cultural idiosyncrasies that Urdu sher o shayari became the stuff of parody scenes in later movies like Daraar (1996).
Shyam Benegal’s Hari Bhari (2000), Zubeidaa (2001) and Khalid Mohammed’s Fiza (2000) were effectively the last Muslim Socials. Interestingly, a little-known film named Kahaani Gudiya Ki (2005), shoddily made but well-meaning, raised pertinent questions with regard to women and Sharia law.
Although a string of films in the 2000s, namely Fanaa (2006), New York (2009), Kurbaan (2009) and My Name is Khan (2010) featured Muslim protagonists, many critics refrain from classifying them as Muslim Social films primarily because their terror-centric plots focussed on the politics of being Muslim, and didn’t really chronicle the social or cultural lives of Muslims. According to a section of critics, these types of films belong to a new genre known as the “Muslim Political”.
Diffident Steps
Filmmakers such as Hansal Mehta, Anurag Kashyap, Rahul Dholakia, and Anubhav Sinha have, in recent years, attempted to put a contemporary spin on the Muslim Social and embrace its spirit. Films such as Shahid (2012), based on the life of slain lawyer Shahid Azmi, and Raees (2017), centered on a Muslim gangster, put forth unabashed and nuanced portrayals of Muslim life. Though a film like Sultan (2016) featured Muslim protagonists, its director Ali Abbas Zafar himself remarked that he did not have religious identity in mind while envisioning the characters, and that they were Muslim by chance.
Anubhav Sinha’s Mulk (2018), entrenched in North India’s Muslim milieu, was commended for its representation of Muslim characters, though the film still had an anti-national Muslim terrorist – by now a stock character – juxtaposed with a nationalist Muslim. Zoya Akhtar’s Gully Boy (2019) was hailed for its portrayal of Murad Sheikh, the working-class Muslim protagonist and aspiring rap star for whom rap is a medium through which he expresses his angst against entrenched inequalities. For all its wishy-washy iconoclasm and engagement with class identity over religious identity, Gully Boy must be lauded for standing out in a cinemascape littered with the likes of Uri: The Surgical Strike (2019), Tanhaji: The Unsung Warrior (2020), The Kashmir Files (2022), The Kerala Story (2023 and 2026), Chhaava (2025), and Dhurandhar (2025 and 2026).
More recently, Darlings (2022) was a darkly humorous take on how a young Muslim woman takes revenge on her cruel, alcoholic husband. A reasonably well-made film, Haq (2025) dramatised the Shah Bano case, highlighting the struggles of a woman abandoned by her husband, who evades his responsibilities under the guise of exercising his religious rights. Haq embodied the spirit of a Muslim Social, but lacked the fire that characterised earlier films like Bazaar.
Video Credit: Zee Music Company on YouTube
The Flower of Indian Cinema
Although the term “Muslim Social” has been subjected to criticism for otherisation of Muslims in Bollywood, the genre is significant because of the space and freedom it accorded to the minority community in the cultural realm of cinema. This has become all the more important, given the Muslim community’s limited political representation and its negative perception in public discourse in today’s Hindutva badge-wearing India.
In a broader sense, these films were a symbol of Hindu-Muslim syncretism in Bollywood because they are emblematic of our accommodative ethos that has a place for everyone.In that, not just Muslim Socials, but even Sikh, Christian, and Parsi Socials ought to be made.
It’s time the flower of Indian cinema acquired more colour.
I have watched a lot of movies in my life, some so good, I could go around recommending them to rank strangers like a pushy salesman. And others, so awful, I could kill the producer for spending on that trash instead of on charity.
But since the question pertains to the most ‘underrated movie’, I assume this means a movie that’s not as popular or celebrated or well-known as it deserves to be. It means a good film that deserves a larger share of the appreciation pie.
My list, in that case, is quite long. But because no one wants to read long posts these days, I’ll stick to just three films that I think are not as valued as they ought to be.
Dabbe: Curse of the Jinn (2013): If you are horror movie buff like me, don’t miss this Turkish mockumentary about jinns and a curse (duh!) and witchcraft and spells and ancient codes and family secrets. While even the most feted horror films (The Exorcist, The Conjuring Universe, or Evil Dead) rely on certain tropes such as a haunted house, an evil spirit preying on the vulnerable, or a priest trying to drive away a demonic entity, Dabbe: Curse of the Jinn is exceptional by virtue of its unique storyline and unexpected twists and turns.
Spooks aside, it is also a profound story of human avarice, desire for vengeance, and inherited karmic debt carried forward by the next generation.
Verdict: Terrifyingly Terrific!
The Working Girls (1974): This was an Exploitation film – a genre of grindhouse-type, low-budget movies that focused on nudity, gratuitous sex, violence, gore, and sensational marketing to draw audiences – and the film’s trailer and poster, featuring bikini-clad girls and the tagline, ‘They’ll do Anything for Money!’, make no bones about it.
But beneath the sleaze and salacity, I found a surprisingly sensitive portrayal of life in the Recession-affected United States in the early 1970s.
Tossed with themes of unemployment, misogyny, women’s agency, unkind landlords, and unreliable boyfriends, it’s a pretty fine celluloid salad dressed, sadly, in the sauce of titillation. Check out my full-length review of the film here.
Verdict: Sleaze with a Spin!
Karz Chukana Hai (1991): I adore the Govinda-Kader Khan movies from the late eighties because they are so bad, they’re good. Karz Chukana Hai is cut from the same cloth – a family drama, a ‘heroine’ who is won over, melodramatic dialogues, black and white characters, sudden out-of-the-blue disco songs, and a denouement marked by lots of ‘dhishum-dhishum’ fist blows, the police’s arrival, a preachy monologue, and the snatch of a song signifying a ‘happy ending’.
But this one stands out because despite its kitschy character, its story revolves around a toxic, exploitative father who doesn’t care two hoots about his hardworking son or his young family.
The father’s crass, unabashed selfishness stands in stark contrast to the son’s unquestioning subservience.
Verdict: It’s Different!
No, these are NOT the best films I have watched. But I do think each of these films deserves a little pat on its back because it did something different.
Dabbe: Curse of the Jinn chose not to be another run-of-the-mill haunted-house drama, full of the usual roaring and boring theatrics.
The Working Girls shed its Exploitation film shell, focussing on problems faced by real working-class young women of the time.
And finally, Karz Chukana Hai, for all its kitschiness, broached the subject of toxic parents at a time when it was taboo to speak about one’s parents in anything but glowing terms.
Given the chance, which of these would you watch first?
If I could switch lives with a famous person for a week, who would it be and why?
Well, I’d be tempted to choose President Donald J. Trump. I could stop the forever wars, abandon the Machiavellian ploys to destabilise countries like Iran and Cuba, broker real (not rhetorical) peace between Ukraine and Russia, and somehow weaken the military-industrial complex and Israel lobby to such an extent that they are never again able to dictate US foreign policy. I would also expand Medicaid coverage and begin an employment programme modeled on President FDR’s New Deal (1933-39).
I am also inclined to say it’ll be Prime Minister Modi. I would stop the crackdown on student protests, ask the Chief Election Commissioner to resign, and clean up the electoral machinery. I’d also stop kowtowing to the US, and spend government funds on building infrastructure.
But what will come of all this? A week of good times, and then it’s back to square one, where the rot reigns. Besides, one week is woefully inadequate a time period to achieve many of the things I mentioned above.
Then Who Would I Choose to Be and Why?
I’ll choose to be a wealthy old dowager’s pampered Chihuahua pet. Yes! I don’t care who the owner is as long as she is the kind of person whose home is featured in glossy lifestyle magazines. The sort that eats Russian caviar and French truffles and washes it all down with Dom Pérignon champagne. The type that maintains summer mansions on the French Riviera. The kind that buys diamonds like ordinary people buy fruit. The kind that cares not a fig about how many children are dead and dying in conflict zones across Asia and Africa.
Having such a person as my pet parent for a week will mean all play and no work!
I would enjoy organic meats and vegetables, sleep on a real fleece bed, have a human attendant take me on walks through a pretty garden, and go for beauty treatments at fancy canine spas. I’d also accompany my human mom or dad to parties and use my extra-sharp aural abilities to hear the ultra-wealthy burp and fart, having a little snicker to myself.
It’ll be a week of unadulterated delight living a life I might never be able to live as a human being.
Besides, what if I were assassinated while occupying Mr. Modi or Mr. Trump’s roles while trying to do something right? As a dog, though, I’d have my cake and eat it too.
When I was in class 9 and a few months short of turning 14, I was admitted into a ‘cool’ girls’ gang. I started doing all kinds of things to get into their good books. Books, I daresay, specialising in shallowness.
I’d hide the fact that I sometimes listened to Hindi music; I had my school skirt shortened; I’d ask my mother for money to buy food from the canteen instead of eating the ’embarrassing’, wilting homemade food; feel ashamed when our white Ambassador car dropped me right in front of the school gate (I was enamoured of the Opel Astra and Cielo, pretty cars of the 1990s); lied about living in our own home (we used to stay at government-owned quarters at the time because my father was a central government official); watched MTV Grind just so I could boast I did (even though I found it yawningly dull); and would pretend that I never went home and opened my books (when I mostly did!)
I was a geek on the inside striving to be a bimbetteon the outside.
Thankfully, I grew out of that dreadful phase I now equate with an artificial smile on a circus clown. Now, I don’t care a fig for what the ‘cool’ folks will think of me. I sometimes wear an ethnic outfit with sports shoes for comfort and leave my tenacious grey strands undyed for months on end. I have also eaten out alone at restaurants with a book for company.
Me being me may not impress others, but it sure does comfort me a good deal.
