ANALYSIS OF FILMMAKERS WORK

sanjay
leela
bhansali
BY S VENKAT NARAYANA MURTHY
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ABOUT THE FILMMAKER
A B O U T T H E F I L M M A K E R.

Sanjay Leela Bhansali born 24 February 1963) is a Bollywood

director, producer, screenwriter, and music director. One of
the most successful filmmakers in Indian cinema, Bhansali is
the recipient of several awards, including four National Film
Awards, eleven Filmfare Awards and a BAFTA nomination. In
2015, the Government of India honoured him with the Padma
Shri, the fourth highest civilian award.

Bhansali made his directorial debut with Khamoshi: The

Musical (1996), for which he received the Filmfare Critics
Award for Best Film. He rose to prominence in Indian cinema
with the commercially successful and widely acclaimed
romantic drama Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999), the
romantic drama Devdas (2002) — for which he received
nomination for the Best Film Not in the English Language at
British Academy of Film & Television Awards (BAFTA) — and
the drama Black (2005), for all of which he received multiple
Best Director Awards and Best Film Awards along with
additional Critics Award for Best Film for the latter at Filmfare
Awards, and multiple National Film Awards for the latter two.
He followed it by directing consecutive commercially
unsuccessful films such as Saawariya (2007) and Guzaarish
(2010), however, Guzaarish received positive reviews from
critics and audiences.

This changed with his adaptation of Shakespeare's Romeo

and Juliet — the tragic romance Goliyon Ki Raasleela Ram-
Leela (2013) — opened to positive reviews and strong box
office collections, for which he received several awards and
nominations. His home production biographical sports film
Mary Kom (2014), had him receive his third National Film
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Award. His period dramas Bajirao Mastani (2015) and
Padmaavat (2018) both rank among the highest-grossing
Indian films of all time. For the former, he won the National
Film Award for Best Direction, as well as Best Director and
Best Film
Awards at Filmfare; and for the latter, he won Best Music
Director Award at Filmfare.

He is an alumnus of the Film and Television Institute of India.

He is the founder of the production house Bhansali
Productions. Bhansali has adopted the middle name "Leela"
as a tribute to his mother,

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BHANSALI . CLASS APART
B H A N S A L I C L A S S A P A R T.

Larger-than-life sets, melodious and lyrically mesmerising

songs, spellbinding visuals and gorgeous costumes are
indispensible aspects of his filmmaking style.

Bhansali creates a spectacle on screen that helps us transcend

to a world that we wish existed.

He made his debut as a director with Salman Khan, Manisha

Koirala, Seema Biswas and Nana Patekar starrer Khamoshi:
The Musical almost 21 years ago! He returned to the big
screen with Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam in 1999 and created
history with the film starring Aishwarya Rai, Salman Khan and
Ajay Devgn.

After a hiatus of three years, Bhansali delivered another

masterpiece Devdas, an adaptation of Sarat Chandra
Chattopadhyay’s namesake novel. The film marked his first
association with Shah Rukh Khan and turned out to be quite
impressive.

In 2007, SLB launched Ranbir Kapoor and Sonam Kapoor with

Saawariya, a film that tanked at the Box Office despite having
star kids on board and appealing visuals. But that didn’t stop
Bhansali from following his heart.

Rani Mukerji - Amitabh Bachchan starrer Black (2005) and

Hrithik Roshan – Aishwarya Rai starrer Guzaarish (2010)
beautifully narrated stories of a woman and a man
respectively who fought all odds to achieve what they wanted
dearly in life.

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The maverick filmmaker took a three year break to return with
the adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet in
2013. Titled Goliyon Ki Raasleela Ram-Leela, the
film starring Ranveer Singh and Deepika Padukone set the
cash registers at the Box Office ringing. He continued to have
a rocking time soon after Bajirao Mastani made a splash on
the big screen. His Ram and Leela transformed into Bajirao
and Mastani to deliver one of the biggest films in Hindi
cinema.

There are a few things about Sanjay Leela Bhansali that cannot
be disputed – he *loves* movies. He has incredible taste in
music, which might not necessarily include an in-depth
understanding of Hindustani Classical and Western Classical.
But he clearly understands what Hindi film music should
sound like.

It is not easy in this crazy rat race called Bollywood to rise upto
these high ranks after stumbling with the failure of his first
movie. But despite the box office failure of Khamoshi, his first
movie has given us a huge hint of Bhansali's potential as a
film-maker. And now with his every release he is minting more
and more money, even though the budgets of his movie also
gets bigger and bigger. But is this directly proportional to the
quality of his cinema? Has Bhansali managed to excel himself
from his Khamoshi and Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam days?
Maybe yes, or perhaps no!

Bhansali has been accused of many things over the year. That
his films try to compensate for genuine melodrama with
spectacle. That the pitch of his actors is so over the top, that
they rarely become three-dimensional characters. He just tries
to make frames beautiful, that the scenes are devoid of any
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depth. He’s also been accused of trying to put in those
‘European touches’ once in a while, which come across as a
gimmick. While there is truth to some of it, to say that Bhansali
makes ‘bad films’ would be sitting on a pedestal too high for
Bollywood.

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THE EPIC DIRECTIONAL VISION
T H E E P I C D I R E C T I O N A L V I S I O N.

Watching Bhansali’s movies is like peeling an onion. Each

layer unfolds, revealing something new with each watch —
sometimes a more tender part, sometimes the roots, a rot,
more sting, more juice or a discoloration lurking inside. For all
the ever-changing elements, the only constant in his movies is
his passionate filmmaking.

“Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam” is an intense love story that brews

under the nose of a large traditional family. It is woven with
the same delicacy and tenderness given to embroidering
intricate patterns on chiffon fabrics. There is not one
thoughtless scene or dialogue that could possibly bore holes
in the delicate fabric of this passionate love story. The
strongest critics of mushy love stories pine for the lovers in
this film to unite, and those very critics suffer hopelessly when
the lady chooses her husband over her lover. The heartache of
the lovers, the cinematography, the soulful music, the theatrics
and the melodrama all seem to run full throttle, yet not amok.

The films of Sanjay Leela Bhansali show the massiveness,

power, and dramatic intensity embellished with theatrics and
melodrama. Among the best directors of the modern-day
Indian film industry, Bhansali incorporates sensitivity and
emotions so transparent, even the sets of his movies portray
the barren and dark setting of the movie “Black,” where the
audience gropes along with the blind protagonist to feel her
world.
We agree with the quadriplegic radio jockey in “Guzaarish”
who is pleading with the justice system to grant him
permission to end his life. It is difficult not to be torn apart

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between agreeing with the law and the protagonist’s heavily
invested emotions.

The silver cloud of Bhansali’s movies is not without its own

specks of grey. “Saawariya,” a movie made with passion at par
with his other work, was not digested well. With the entire
movie running like a Broadway musical and an emptiness of
plot, the movie seemed to drag on. The setting of a beautiful
woman waiting for an absentee lover and a guy infected with
the one-sided love bug left the audience gasping for fresh air.
The technique was unique, the implementation was beautiful
— the reception however, was lukewarm.
There are others like “Khamoshi,” which, to me, was a stone-
chiseled well to become a breathtaking statue, but it did not
rake in the profits.

Sanjay Leela Bhansali achieves the impossible feat of

magically creating a house of cards layer by layer and makes it
stay up for viewers. “Devdas” portrays romantic numbers
against an opulent early 20th-century background. An
eccentric rich young autocrat ditches his childhood love,
pines for her, then loses himself to alcoholism when she is
married and gone — it is Freytag’s analysis played out for
about two and a half hours on screen, and probably forever in
the hearts of movie lovers.

Subjective discrepancies apart, everyone agrees that the

characters in Bhansali’s movies are multifaceted. Some are
haughty, have attitude, are subservient, show spunk, embody
power, portray weaknesses — each one of them is highly
interesting and worth discussing. The Romeo-Ram of
“RamLeela,” the music maestro of “Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam,”
Paro, the essence of beauty and strength in ‘Devdas,’ the
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alcoholic teacher in “Black,” or the love-struck Bajirao in
“Bajirao Mastani” — all of these characters bring to the screen
an impressive array of dynamics, evoking in the audience a
myriad of sensibilities.

The passion that animates every single character in every

single Bhansali production carries over to the surrounding
objects and props. Curtains tremble, chandeliers shake,
typewriters, lights and swords get agitated, and even the
costumes seem to come alive in Bhansali’s films.

Bhansali relies heavily on symbolism to convey the emotional

state of his characters. Thus a towel that hangs precariously to
Ranbir Kapoor’s waist in Saawariya (2007) conveys the ardour
and recklessness of his character, Raj. A shaking sword in the
climax of Bajirao Mastani (2015) reminds Bajirao (Ranveer
Singh) of his second wife Mastani.

In Devdas (2002), the most melodramatic of Bhansali’s movies,

nearly every piece of furniture and, indeed, the whole house
itself, seems to be participating in the ups and downs of the
relationship between the titular hero, his childhood
sweetheart, and the golden-hearted prostitute who shelters
him. When Aishwarya Rai’s Paro runs in vain towards Devdas,
her sari is communicating the tremors of her heart.

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FILMOGRAPHY
F I L M O G R A P H Y.

Parinda (1989) - Assistant Director.

1942: A Love Story (1994) - Writer.

Khamoshi: The Musical (1996) - Director.

Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999) - Director.

Devdas (2002) - Director

Black (2002) - Director

Saawariya (2005) - Director

Guzaarish (2010) - Director

My Friend Pinto (2011) - Producer

Rowdy Rathore (2012) - Producer

Shirin Farhad Ki Toh Nikal Padi (2012) - Producer &

Writer
Goliyon Ki Raasleela Ram-Leela (2013) - Director

Mary Kom (2014) - Producer

Gabbar Is Back (2015) - Producer

Bajirao Mastani (2015) - Director

Padmaavat (2018) - Director

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ANALYSIS OF HIS WORK
A N A L Y S I S O F H I S W O R K.

Sanjay Leela Bhansali is grandiose, Bhansali is traditional,

Bhansali is painstakingly detailed, and Bhansali is a human
chamber of operatic, larger-than-life and exotic imagery. His is
the India that foreign tourists imagine when they come
visiting: overwhelming, melodramatic, historically rich, royal,
loud, colourful and precisely emotional.

He is a film maker in the widest sense, given that he also

excels as a musician, producer and editor – to stylistic
signatures is a bit reductive. There is more than one voice in
Sanjay Leela Bhansali. He is deceptively diverse, even if the
“aura” of his storytelling has become a tad repetitive. Much of
our perception of his legacy, though, is down to the age of
Bollywood he occupies.

It’s because of the consistent multiplex-ization and urban

modernization of Indian romance that his scale of vision
continues to remain relevant, new and simultaneously
nostalgic – like a vintage rotary-dial telephone interrupting an
assembly line of swanky artificial-intelligence smartphones.
His gigantically scaled orthodoxy almost operates within the
realms of fantasy today because nobody else has the patience
to “create” anymore. It looks magical because the definition of
magic is subject to the visual arts’ ever-evolving dynamic: his
peers have in fact illuminated his language further by
choosing to reflect a younger India instead of committedly
romanticizing a bygone one. Over his twenty-one years as a
professional director, he has represented some of mainstream
Hindi cinema’s most stereotypical attributes, yes, but in the
“oldest” way possible – and, more importantly, perhaps at the
rightest of times.
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KHAMOSHI: THE MUSICAL (1996)

Maybe it’s appropriate that, for a story-maker who has

fashioned a career out of elegantly updating the concept of
nostalgia, his first film – bereft of decoration, scale and
reputation – remains his most memorable. Khamoshi is the
pure, blank-slated infant that grew into a popular, lush
Emperor. It had a Goa that Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa ended in,
not the one Guzaarish accessorized. It had sunny scenes
propelled not by colour-corrected imagery but by empathetic
characters. It had melodious songs – as opposed to humbling
symphonies – that agreed with the dramatic contradictions of
its atmosphere. It had everything that Bhansali came from, and
a little of what Bhansali built upon. There were scattered
elements (and stars) of Vidhu Vinod Chopra – who he had
assisted for years – and his cinematic solemnity, as well as
seeds of his own obsession with the healing powers of music
and grief. Most importantly, it had Nana Patekar, the founding
father of the indie-pop space currently occupied by the likes
of Irrfan Khan, Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Pankaj Tripathi and Kay
Kay Menon. As the catholic deaf-mute father of the
“heroine” (an ethereal Manisha Koirala), a heartbreaking
Patekar single-handedly raised Bhansali’s fairly sentimental
template – perhaps lighting the spark and inspiring the
director to spread his brush on bigger, if not necessarily
firmer, canvas.

HUM DIL DE CHUKE SANAM (1999)

This superbly textured film primarily stood out for highlighting

the strengths of the performer in Ajay Devgn before he
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discovered multi-starrer comedies and lost a vowel. And it
also had a roguish Salman Khan before he became a big, bad
“bhai”. In all seriousness, this remains one of Hindi cinema’s
most endearing triangles, propelled by a young Aishwarya
Rai’s path-breaking performance. This was a year in which she
broke the “former beauty queen” stereotype; coupled with
Subhash Ghai’s Rahman-boosted Taal, Hum Dil De Chuke
Sanam established Rai as transitional Bollywood’s most
evocative damsel in distress. It also made Bhansali a
household name in a nation transfixed with a slew of exciting
next-gen voices. More importantly, this film became a rare
reminder of how two distinct films within one screenplay
could be equally effective despite an interval.

DEVDAS (2003)

There is no greater film to demonstrate how the glorious

vanity of song picturization in Indian movies goes a long way
in defining our memories of them. Devdas, I suspect, was the
beginning of Bhansali’s marriage with perfection and prose –
an abusive, fascinating relationship that would thrive on its
imperfections in the years to come. Along with Lagaan, this
signaled the return of the “big screen” for new-age period
Hindi movies – with a superstar who was willing to challenge
the idealism of his own romantic legacy. Bhansali made Shah
Rukh Khan’s broken, drunken, egoistic, regal, pathetic, weak
and defiantly self-destructive figure look almost aspirational in
its implosion. Some might argue this film was the ultimate
form of cinematic indulgence. But think about its addictive
titular protagonist and the “treatment” makes complete sense.

BLACK (2005)

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This devastatingly acted film accounted for Amitabh
Bachchan’s finest performance 40 years into his career. For a
story about a deaf-and-blind girl’s struggle to exist, it’s
phenomenal that Bhansali contrives to never let us forget its
sights and sounds. The most exquisitely felt scene involves an
insolent little girl thrashing around like an animal in a water
fountain, finally learning to associate meaning to words. After
three straight musicals, viewers learned to do the same for
Bhansali’s dreamscape. It didn’t matter whether it was Shimla
or Scotland, because the actors – including a wonderful
Shernaz Patel – generated an environment, instead of the
other way around. This was Bhansali’s fourth film – his first four
constitute one of the best “opening innings” for any filmmaker
– and perhaps his most divergent. Ironic, coming from a
director famed for symbolizing a “genre”.

SAAWARIYA (2007)

There are ways to process Bhansali’s very blue and self-

consciously poetic adaptation of Dostoveyvski’s White Nights
in terms of his filmography. One way – and this is crass –
suggests it was his Student Of The Year: his first and last blue-
blooded-star-child launch vehicle. Tonally, though, this is more
of a predecessor to the atmospherically superficial Mirzya. The
second way suggests that Saawariya was the most
geographically “daring” – and therefore the strangest – of his
unrequited-love-triangle series: Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam,
Devdas and Bajirao Mastani thrived on their settings, while
Saawariya was symbolized by the staginess and ambiguity of
its hybrid culture. Its most memorable frames were derivative
tributes to Raj Kapoor, though I still believe this film was
unfairly panned because of its competition with the
diametrically opposite Om Shanti Om.
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GUZAARISH (2010)

I remember being spellbound by Guzaarish when I first

watched it – because perhaps I wanted to slot it in the same
universe as the other two films of Bhansali’s passionate
“disability” trifecta, Khamoshi: The Musical and Black. But the
more I emotionally matured, the more irritated I grew with
Hrithik Roshan’s quadriplegic hero and his aesthetically
pleasing quest for euthanasia. His concept of eccentricity still
bore the drastically overbearing remnants of Koi Mil Gaya. To
compensate, Bhansali stuffed his designer Goa with every
possible device of visual opportunity: a magician backstory
(the stage acts were stunningly conceived), a gothic mansion
and a radiant Aishwarya Rai. Perhaps this was part of
Bhansali’s reactionary phase of three films between 2005 and
2010 – when he swapped rustic scale for colonial tone. This
may have been a result of the fact that the big-thinking
Ashutosh Gowarikar had succeeded in Bhansali’s “mega-
period” universe, almost as a direct competitor. Otherwise
one would imagine that Gowarikar’s loyal collaborator, A.R.
Rahman, was a perfect fit for Bhansali’s vast soundscape. But
they never worked together. Only one of the two directors
endured – with Bhansali returning to his lavish “stable” once
Gowarikar’s Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Sey (2010) bombed.

GOLIYON KI RAASLEELA RAM-LEELA (2013)

As hypnotic as Deepika Padukone was in this vivid Gujarati-

Bollywood adaptation of Romeo & Juliet, the second half is a
chaotic mess. The film boasts of some truly timeless characters
– Supriya Pathak’s “Dhankor Baa” will remain immortal – but it
is especially disheartening to see someone like Bhansali fall
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into the trappings of his own grammar. He often gets so
carried away by the inherent drama and musicality and energy
of the world his star-crossed lovers occupy that he falters on a
basic storytelling level. The incoherence of the final act is
starker because of vibrant spectacle that precedes it. On the
heels of Guzaarish, though, Ram-Leela was hailed as a
comforting comeback of excesses by everyone’s favourite
moment-painter. Perhaps its flaws were the result of the
showman in Bhansali exploding to express himself after ten
years of colonial subtlety.

BAJIRAO MASTANI (2015)

An end-of-the-year release, as well as an underwhelming

season for Hindi cinema, resulted in this film being
appreciated with more “mohabbat” than “ayaashi”. That’s not
to say it wasn’t a good film – it had some achingly immortal
words and sequences, not least the trademark falling-in-love
“money shot” in full battle motion – but simply being good in
the heightened history-weds-mythology genre is not always
enough in post-Baahubali India. Almost every shot, piece of
jewelry, teardrop and geometrically precise “diya” is designed
to highlight Padukone’s enigmatic form and Ranveer’s
Maratha swagger. Yet, as is often the case in the “Bhansali
Triangle,” it’s Priyanka Chopra as the third wheel – Bajirao’s
Brahmin wife – that steals the show. While most directors use
music to pinpoint crucial emotions, Bhansali used silence to
do the same. If only he had done this more often.

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BHANSALI FILMS ~ MY VIEW.
B H A N S A L I F I L M S ~ M Y V I E W.

Khamoshi - The Musical.

Release date: 9 August 1996

Annie, a hearing and speech

impaired couple's daughter, meets
Raj who brings music and love to her
life. However, she has to overcome
obstacles when her family refuses to
accept their relationship.

My View

The movie begins with Joseph (Nana

Patekar) and Flavy (Seema Biswas)
waiting for their daughter Annie
(Manisha Koirala) and Raj (Salman Khan). Annie goes into the
state of coma after she crashes into a truck. Subsequently, we
are taken into a flashback told through Annie's eyes. Although
her parents are deaf-mute, Annie's grandmother Maria
(Helen), is the ultimate singing-dancing, life affirming woman.
Annie's brother Joy, however, dies very soon after his birth.
Annie's world is shattered when first Maria dies and then her
younger brother falls from the bell tower of the church. Her
parents Flavy and Joseph lose faith in God but Annie
becomes more serious and devout.

Raj (Salman Khan) comes into Annie's sad life from Bombay.
He is a composer and has used her as inspiration for his music
from afar. Their love blossoms, but not without complications,
mostly involving Annie's parents who have come to depend
on her. A poverty-stricken, deaf-mute fisherman and his family
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is a brave subject matter for a Hindi film. The performances by
Manisha Koirala, Nana Patekar and Seema Biswas are powerful
and compelling. Manisha in particular is in her element and
demonstrates the full range of her acting ability.

The scene in which she shouts at her father through the door,
screaming and using sign language even though she knows
he can neither see nor hear, is extremely powerful. Seema
Biswas as the insular,
angry mother afraid of
the outside world, is a
good counter balance
to Nana Patekar's full-
bodied performance
as Annie's father. The
scenes in which he's trying to deal with his son's demise and
then throwing the cross into the ocean are exceptionally
strong and moving.

Manisha Koirala and Nana Patekar's scenes together are also

powerful. Salman Khan, looks very sweet probably due to his
"Prem" image and manages to keep his shirt on almost the
whole way through the film, a miracle for a man whose main
assets have been his biceps. He offers a nice counterpoint as
the uncomplicated middle-class boy thrown into Annie's
world of pain and guilt.

A poverty-stricken, deaf-mute fisherman and his family is a

brave subject matter for a Hindi film with popular Hindi stars.
In Indian culture, where films serve primarily as escapism,
Khamoshi offers a rare example of handicapped people being
portrayed beyond the usual stereotypes of street beggars and

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sufferers. It is a strong,
powerful and yet beautiful
fi l m about the
transformations art works
upon our lives.
Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam.
Release Date : 18 June 1999

A newly-wed man discovers

that his wife is in love with
another man and decides to
unite them. Ignoring the
ridicule he might have to
face for this, he takes his wife
to Italy in search of her love.

My View :

Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (HDDCS) excels with fantastic

dance set-pieces and songs, but like most Hindi blockbusters,
falters when it comes to portraying realistic characters and
captivating exposition. While the story’s pacing can drag at
times, most issues are saved by the Rai’s charisma, the
aforementioned musical performances, and a solid ending.

Where HDDCS stumbles most is in its dialogue. I’ve said it

before and I’ll say it again: Bollywood actors’ tendency to
overact and drown in melodrama can become distracting
when the script isn’t focused on the dance-scenes. I’m not
suggesting melodrama or passionate acting are inherently
bad, I’m merely saying that, in this day and age, far removed
from the days of theatre’s original influence on cinema, it is
much harder for me to connect with characters who are
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verging on caricature. I had difficulty relating to much of
HDDCS’s cast, at least in the film’s first half. Salman Khan, a
superstar no doubt he may be, I found annoying and self-
absorbed, as opposed to charismatic. Rai does her best to
counteract the irritating actions of the story’s pseudo-male
lead, but much of her performance for half the movie is
dependent on her ineffective chemistry with Khan.

Much of what gets viewers through the first ninety minutes are
the slick dance scenes that showcase Rai’s impressive dance
skills. Several of them are quite long, but they never feel
boring or repetitive, as the choreography and music are
paced well. Watching the musical-numbers is a real treat in
fact, as the glorious costume design, lovely music, and
intricate dance choreography come together to make
wonderful set-pieces of musical action. Bhansali knows how to
best use his lead actress, as every shot with her dancing
makes the sequences glow and hum with energy. There are
plenty of eye-catching shots and effective camera angles in
each dance-number.

The second half of HDDCS is much stronger than its first, with
most of its editing and dialogue issues dissolving with Khan’
absence. Ajay Devgan’s more subdued performance also
elevates the movie’s latter half, as he is far more likable than
Khan. I found the justice done to him at the end of the movie
was great, and concluded the story well.

To that end, the sheer differences between the two acts of

HDDCS’s story are so striking that one may even question
whether they’re watching a single film and not two. Khan’s
almost complete disappearance from the second half,
combined with the change in location from India to Europe
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and the lack of elaborate dance numbers, make the last ninety
minutes of this feature feel decidedly un-Sanjay Bhansali,
although the removal of Khan’s tedious wannabe playboy
character is a welcome change. With that on the table, it’s all
the more surprising that HDDCS still works as a complete
package, in large part because Rai’s arc is interesting and
believable. Rai showcases depth in the story’s second half by
striking out on her own without the help of elaborate dance-
numbers and instead investing energy into a character that
feels realistic and whose development we can understand.

Rai has widely been recognized as a superstar, touted as one

of the most attractive actresses the world over and an
exemplary dancer. She’s more or less the female equivalent of
the prototypical male action-star, both alluring the opposite
sex’s gaze with her potent sexuality and versatile wardrobe,
while also dominating the screen with her alpha-female
physicality and dance presence. She’s the picture-perfect
definition of a movie starlet, and far and away Bollywood’s
most iconic actress of the late ’90s and 2000s.

However, many have called into question the appropriateness

of Rai’s fame by criticizing her over-dependence on physical
energy and outward expression, claiming her style to be
shallow and lacking substance. The naysayers say she lacks
subtlety, among other things. Regardless of how you feel
about Rai’s rise to fame and current filmography (as well as
her more recent territoriality toward younger, up-and-coming
actresses), I believe the second ninety minutes of HDDCS,
which was more or less her breakout film, highlight important
acting skills that extend beyond the now standard Aishwarya
Rai-glamour. I wouldn’t exactly put Rai’s performance in this
movie on an Oscar nominee list, but I think it’s a good
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example of Rai’s innate talent as a capable actress and shows
how she’s a much more competent dramatic performer than
she often gets credit for. She has a difficult job with this role
and she does it well. It’s a big reason why the second half of
HDDCS is so much more consistent than its first, and why the
movie succeeds as a whole.

And to hammer the point home again, the benefit of shelving

Khan for part-two cannot be overstated. Bollywood has a(n)
(in)famous tendency to over-exaggerate character traits and
hypercharge emotions to the point that some (or a lot) of the
melodrama can become too much for any non-Indian to
appreciate, but not here in HDDCS — at least not in its second
act. The narrative’s abrupt tonal shift is jarring, and it’s a shame
that the marvelous songs aren’t better spaced throughout the
entire feature, but the fact that Khan’s pain-inducing
overacting is nowhere to be found after intermission is such a
relief that the story can finally be allowed to breathe. Devgan,
whose role is introduced late in the first half and ends up
largely replacing Khan’s caricature in part-two, is a likable,
normal character that the audience can relate to and is far
better suited to complement Rai’s lead.

I can’t say enough about Ismail Darbar’s soundtrack. The

songs are so consistently strong that, even without the potent
combination of Bhansali’s choreography and Rai’s dance
moves, the soundtrack is a joy to listen to. It’s so diverse and
catchy that it rivals the best of A. R. Rahman’s library. HDDCS’s
musical component is also worth shouting about because it
feels so refreshing in light of the Indian film industry’s
noticeable shift toward more Western acoustics and North
American rock ‘n roll/pop music influences in recent years.
Comparing a Bhansali soundtrack like HDDCS to a movie like
21
3 Idiots (2009) shows the immense range of Bollywood
soundtracks and highlights the industry’s dramatic trending
toward Westernised music and MTV-inspired song-numbers.

In the end, HDDCS’s performances from Rai and Devgan and

its mesmerizing dance scenes outshine its weaker points.
HDDCS, in giving credit where credit is due, is a real treat for
choreography, music, and costume design. It takes risks by
removing one of the fabled King Khan’s from its second half
and essentially reducing him to a glorified guest appearance,
but this calculated gamble pays off in droves. This Bhansali
classic is well worth your 3 hours and 7 minutes, all things
considered.

22
Devdas
Release date: 12 July 2002

After his wealthy family prohibits him

from marrying the woman he is in love
with, Devdas's life spirals downward as
he takes up alcohol and a life of vice to
alleviate the pain.
Release date: 12 July 2002

My View.

To call 'Devdas' a 'modern masterpiece'

would be an understatement. I prefer the term 'a future
classic'. Whether a film of such grandeur will stand the test of
time is something viewers will have to decide twenty years
from now. For the next few years though, 'Devdas' will safely
secure its' place in history as certainly the most visually
ravishing film that the Indian film industry has put out in the
last thirty years, and I predict that it will eventually be held up
as a reference piece in film schools the world over, alongwith
'Pakeezah', 'Mughal-E-Azam' and 'Umrao Jaan'.

However, waxing eloquent over a film's place in the record

books does not neccessarily mean that the film is without its
flaws. How can a film that unabashedly uses up all of the
typical Hindi movie cliches, makes a criminal use of color, and
fronts itself with a star cast that looks as if they've walked off a
modelling ramp, expect to be taken seriously? Certainly
director Sanjay Leela Bhansali wasn't making this film for
idiots or tasteless front-benchers. That said, it doesn't seem as
if this film was indicated for a serious art-film audience either. I
assume that the director wanted to strike a middle ground
23
with his audience-base. To that extent, "Devdas" effortlessly
climbs into that special realm where movies don't need to
have a specific target audience to succeed. There is both
shamelessly commercial saccharine, and high-brow avant
garde dialogue, usually one after the other; very frequently in
the same frame. To call this 'genius' on part of the director is
something that bears debating, but Bhansali demonstrates
that hes no fool with the camera, nor with the seamless
screenplay, especially during the interaction between the
three principal characters.

"Devdas" is often called India's most celebrated love story. In

a land where cinema these days has been reduced to a
farcical experience where everyone is guaranteed a happy
ending, a tale such as this can spell immediate doom for both
the makers of the film, and the industry as a whole, where
creating the illusion of happiness and joy is a job they
take very seriously. Cinema in India has cumulatively been
transformed into an arena where the sole aim is to 'uplift' the
viewer and transport them to worlds where there is no
perennial sorrow or poverty. In a land that where a majority of
the population lives beneath their means, such an aim on the
part of the movie industry is commendable, to say the
least. But of late, the sugary, sappy love tales that have been
emerging from Bollywood indicate that the public domain's
taste had changed dramatically. To an audience that once
lauded such deep and spiritual fare such as Raj Kapoor's
'Shree 420', mainstream cinema is now nothing but stories of
huge corporate conglomerates that live abroad and wear
Western brands. Recent mega-hits of the last few years,
especially 'Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham' and 'Kuch Kuch Hota
Hai' were merciless in their endorsements of Western apparel
and culture, and it seemed that real Indian values and movie-
24
making had all but disappeared. Which is why the new version
of "Devdas" is both timely and a necessity. In a land that is
increasingly facing an identity crisis, the retelling of a classic
Indian tale could have a ripple effect that could bring about
new tidings in the way films are made in India, and more
importantly, the stories that are told.

Unlike fellow film-makers Karan Johar and Aditya Chopra, the

director Sanjay Leela Bhansali has a critically rich body of work
under his belt. His first film, a poetic piece entitled
'Khamoshi' ('Silence') was an immediate failure in India, where
people weren't too interested in the tale of a young girl who
sings her way to the hearts of her deaf-mute
parents (literally). Yet there were sparks of genius that were
apparent in this first film as well, where he coaxed out a
glorious performance from Nepali actress Manisha Koirala,
and made some use of the lesser gifted Salman Khan.
However, his second film, 'Hum Dil de Chuke Sanam' was one
that critics either loved or hated. Indeed, there was much to
hate. Though it marked the ascent of model Aishwarya Rai as
Hindi Filmdom's reigning queen, it also managed to pile in
the worst of cheesy Indian movie-making into three
insufferable hours. There is also much to like - no one can
debate the director's use of color or musical score in this film,
but the fact that he took for granted that his audience were
chronically retarded, didn't help matters. His attempts at
passing off Hungary as Italy is what I remember the movie
most for (this was done due to budgetary constraints, I
presume), even though everyone who is supposedly 'Italian' in
the movie speak with heavy Magyar accents. We were also
treated to monuments in Budapest, and the lead couple even
joined a Hungarian dance troupe to do a traditional folk
dance, but the director kept insisting that we were in Italy.
25
'Hum dil de chuke sanam' also marked the return (of sorts) to
traditional Indian values, when the lead character is forced to
decide between her husband and her lover. Its no mystery
that she does the 'right thing' but there could have been no
possible outcome considering the social climate in the
subcontinent at the moment. Such dubious credentials apart, I
am quite ready to redeem Sanjay now that I've seen his third
film.

"Devdas" tells the story of Devdas Mukherjee (Shah Rukh

Khan) who returns to his Calcutta home from London. The
story, which was written early last century, didn't mention
London at all, but I suppose this was inserted into this
storyline to give the lead actor more sophistication, and also
to somehow brand him an 'outsider' without explicitly stating
it. The original story itself was rather simple - Devdas wants to
marry his childhood sweetheart, and even though his
girlfriend's family has no apparent problem with this, his own
family clearly does. The quiet, seemingly mellow soul that he
is, Devdas watches as his only true love is wed to someone
else, and the rest of the story stands back and lets Devdas
drink his way to his death. The premise here is that both
Devdas and Parvati were soulmates, yet couldn't be together
in their lifetime. Needless to say, this is a clear rip-off on the
legendary Indian tale of Krishna and Radha to begin with
(both Lord Krishna and Radha were married to other people,
yet remained in love with each other until their deaths), but
tragic love stories always work if told properly, and its no
wonder that this tale has oft been told both on film and stage.
And while it clearly is a very Indian Romeo and Juliet, it is
somehow even more heartbreaking and effective than the
Shakespearian saga.

26
Watching "Devdas" for the first few minutes, I was doubtful
that it would grow into the grand epic that it eventually did.
Bhansali is a master storyteller, but his over-the-top renditions
of certain characters is appalling. The movie starts off with
Kaushala (Smita Jaykar), who is Devdas' mother, revelling in
the news that her son is returning from London. Probably the
most ill-conceived five minutes in the entire film, its difficult to
ascertain if the director is making fun of the kitschy personas
of the mothers involved, or if hes actually being serious.
Kaushalya is a devoted mother, and her best friend is her next
door neighbour Sumitra (Kiron Kher) who is also the mother
of Devdas' childhood sweetheart Paro (the exquisite
Aishwarya Rai). Both mothers celebrate the son's return with
'shondesh', and Sumitra runs back to her home to inform Paro
that Devdas is returning. We are also introduced to the
mandatory 'evil daughter-in-law' character, played by Ananya,
who has nothing more to do than stand aside and raise
eyebrows and utter vengeful one-liners.Thankfully, the 'bad'
portion of the movie ends right here. What follows is
cinematic poetry, bringing back the era of the 1960s when
Madhubala and Meena Kumari held centerstage with their
awe-inspiring performances. Paro (Aishwarya Rai) is shown
standing by her window when her mother approaches her
with the good news. She cannot believe it, but when she does
she is delirious with happiness. The centerpiece of this entire
segment is a 'diya' ('lamp) that Paro has kept burning ever
since Devdas left Indian shores. Shes been guarding it all the
while, never letting it die out, and the news of his return
prompts her to break into song. Being the first song in the
film, the track, called 'Silsila ye chaahat ka' is important as it
serves as an introduction to the rest of the film's musical score.
Paro gets the news at night, and the burning lamps set the
mood for the opening lilts that are sung by Paro's maids. We
27
are introduced to Aishwarya Rai's face through the light of the
lamp, and from the moment she steps onscreen, 'Devdas' is
entirely hers'. Anyone who has had doubts about Aishwarya's
screen presence will be left speechless through the course of
the song, as Paro and her dancers flit down stairs, and run
through the corridors of her beautiful and grand old-world
Calcutta mansion. The theme of the song is that Paro has kept
the light burning 'all these years', both figuratively and
technically, and the song requires that the lamp be burning
throughout the course of it, even when subject to the most
trying of circumstances. So we find Paro running through the
wind, getting drenched in the rain, and twirling in highly
choreographed routines, yet the lamp never goes out. While
the idea may seem a little too literal for some people, its all
executed splendidly. By the time its over, we're left wanting
more.

This follows the actual meeting between the two leads, and
theres the usual amount of coy interaction one would expect
from such an encounter. Paro and Devdas have the most
beautiful lines here, and one's attention is directed to the
weakly translated English language subtitles that dominate
the bottom half of the screen. The screenplay is a mergence of
Hindi, Urdu and Bengali colloquialisms and nuances, and the
rich texture of the script is a result of this interplay. However, it
seems that Bhansali is forcing himself to acknowledge the
origins of this tale. Its a Bengali story, no doubt, but when the
movie is in Hindi, one does not expect the cast to suddenly
break out into Bengali just to placate regional audiences or
would-be critics. When one of the cast members offers
another 'Shondesh' for the umpteenth time, its enough for
you to hurl a bottle at the screen, but Paro's lovely face is
always on hand to subdue any violent tendencies you may
28
have. Dev and Paro certainly look like star-crossed lovers, and
yes, there is definitely chemistry between both actors. While it
would seem that Aishwarya is just reprising her role in 'Hum
dil de chuke sanam' where she spent the entire second half
looking as if she'd been clonked by a heavy two-by-four, this
particular story requires more of her in terms of expression
and silent eye-speak, and its here that she truly excels.

Its at this stage of the film that Kiron Kher definitively steps in.
As Sumitra, Paro's strong-willed mother, she plays a woman
who is willing to support her daughter's dreams of marrying
up into a more respected family. As a theater personality, Kher
brings a special histrionic talent to the film, and of the
supporting cast, it is she who holds her own the best. She too
nurtures hopes of becoming Devdas' mother-in-law, but has
no idea of how lowly her neighbours think her to be. Sumitra's
background as a 'dancing girl' means that even though she
can remain friends with the upper-class, she can never harbor
dreams of actually being elevated to their status. While this
storyline is developed, we are also introduced to the joyful
frolic of Paro and Devdas through the song 'Bairi Piya', which
plays over moonlit skies as the duo tease and flirt with each
other. Things move along fairly well as the first intense scene
is set up. Sumitra is invited to a party hosted by Devdas' family
where she hopes she will be informed of their family's
acceptance of her daughter as their future daughter-in-law.
She is also invited to dance, and this is where the gorgeous
song 'Morey Piya' kicks in. The picturisation of this song is
remarkable for two reasons - for one, Kiron Kher dances up a
storm in a richly decorated set piece that reflects the opulence
of old-world Calcutta, while on the other, Paro and Devdas
romance each other in a serene riverside setting by night. The

29
theme of Radha and Krishna is reflected here again, right
down to the lyrics and the
costumes. Paro balances pots on her head by the river, while
Devdas attempts to seduce her while she takes up the most
complex tantric positions. This is sheer Vedic scripture and
romanticism brought to life, and the sensuality of the scene is
heightened by the chemistry the two share. However, the
director is careful to understate his case. Even though Paro
and Devdas are immensely physical with each other, we never
see this progressing past a hug or a stilted embrace. The way
the song ends, with the two lovers entwined on the banks of
the river (another incredible work of cinematography here)
indicates that theres more to meet the eye, or perhaps I'm
reading too much into it. Nevertheless, it does paint a darker
picture of events to come if Devdas and Paro did consummate
their relationship at this stage, as it makes the trauma of their
upcoming partition even more difficult to bear. On the other
side of the river, Sumitra is finally brought to her senses when
Kaushalya publicly humiliates her and tells her to get her
daughter 'married off to someone else'.

Paro doesn't seem unduly worried when she finds out that
Devdas' parents have rejected her. She seems certain that
Devdas will come to her rescue, and she talks of him as
already being her 'husband'. 'How can you ask for what is
already yours?' she tells her friend. The great thing about this
film is that we are introduced to the characters of Paro and
Devdas both believing that they are already wed to each
other, in every sense except by the law. This makes us root for
them even more when things go wrong (which they do) as
they essay their roles with such clarity and conviction - its hard
not to like or sympathize with these people. When Sumitra
arranges hastily for Paro's marriage to an older aristocrat, Paro
30
doesn't seem defiant - just confident that things will work out
as she wills it to. However, when she doesn't hear back from
Devdas, she steals out at night to go visit him in his room, a
move that triggers a violent series of events. Devdas' father
insults her when she is caught in Dev's room, and when Dev
confronts his father, he realizes at the end of it that his family
will never let him have her. Furious, he storms out to 'get some
space'. However, Paro and her mother, now humiliated
beyond redemption (as they see it) decide that Dev doesn't
really love her, and Paro reluctantly agrees to get married to
her mother's choice of alliance. The story here is interesting
for a variety of reasons -for one, Devdas is not portrayed as
the 'angry young man' (though he is rather confrontational
with his father) but rather as a soft sort of wimp who has to
'get away from it all'. Shah Rukh Khan treads this line carefully.
While being a full-blown wimp would have lost him the
audience's support, Khan's Devdas is a softy, but a likeable
one. It is also more believable and realistic when a leading
man takes time to be by himself rather than go the Bollywood
way and create a furor. This is also the stage in the movie
where Paro matures. When Devdas comes back to her a few
nights later she is very retaliatory, though she is clearly still
madly in love with him. Devdas accuses her of being too vain
when she says that she is finally going to have her own money
when she marries into a rich family, and that she is now on
'equal footing' with him. 'Even the moon cannot be as vain as
you" he tells her, to which she responds 'Ah yes, but the moon
is scarred, how could it dare have vanity?' (she refers, of
course to the moon's markedly dissimilar surface). Devdas
here displays his only real act of violence here when he
physically 'harms' Paro, which results in her forehead getting
wounded. 'You will be vain no more' he tells her, though he is
overly apologetic for his actions. It seems Devdas wants Paro
31
to always be 'touched by him', and if this is really the
explanation for what he did, it certainly explains many
domestic abuse cases, I would imagine. Such sado-
masochistic strains apart, this scene works well, especially as it
leads to the haunting ballad 'Hamesha Tumko Chaaha' ('I have
always desired you'), a poignant tale during which Paro is
married off to her older suitor, and Devdas plays an active part
in 'giving her away'. In the theater where I saw the film, men
and women were heard sniveling - some openly sobbing -
during this sequence. Its one of many masterfully executed
sequences in the movie, and it also proves that in 'Devdas',
the songs are never a disjointed add-on unlike in so many
other Hindi movies. Every song here is vital to the storyline,
and I cannot imagine a film of this sort without the kind of
soundtrack that it possesses.

Once Paro is married off, Devdas takes a turn for the worse.
He immediately looks more drawn and gaunt, and even a tad
thinner. When he locks himself up in his room and starts
setting things on fire, the family comes to the horrific
realization that by denying him Paro, they have set him on a
course of self-destruction. Devdas' family never comes across
as the sort of family that truly loves their son. Everything here,
as it certainly still is in most joint Indian families, is about
position, prestige and the 'family name'. Considering that the
year is 1917, this apparently mattered more than it does
today. Devdas, however, is no fool, though he is rather a fair-
weather lover. He meets up with Chunnilal (Jackie Shroff), an
aristocrat who bides his time in the show-mansions of the
beautiful courtesans and entertainers of the red-light district
of Calcutta. Chunnilal admittedly loves two things most in life :
women and alcohol, and he wastes no time in introducing
Devdas to both. This is where 'Devdas' really starts developing
32
into a magnum opus of epic proportions. If you thought that
Madhubala's dances in the stained-glass halls of old India in
'Mughal E Azam' were breathtaking, be prepared for the
sumptuous lair of Chandramukhi (Madhuri Dixit), a courtesan
known by name and reputation as one of the most beautiful
and intelligent charmers in the city. Her lavish mansion,
decorated with authentic mirrored jewellery from the last
century, and filled with the most expensive-looking baubles
and beads, is certainly Bollywood's most visually stunning set-
piece to date.

Chandramukhi plays the third angle in this romantic saga - a

woman who by choice of profession must renounce dreams of
love and marriage, and whose sole occupation in the world is
to dance for the merriment of men who pay for her services.
However, it is in her that we find the most spiritual and
challenging character in the entire film. While Madhuri Dixit
may have the lesser role in terms of screentime, she is a one-
woman powerhouse, literally saturating each frame shes in
with class and sophistication. She is introduced to us as shes
drying her hair after a bath - and she is introduced to Devdas,
who is openly embarrassed at being in the house of a
courtesan. We see Devdas' many insecurities come forth in
this scene. He has rather staid and Victorian ideas about
morality (he is, after all, a product of a British law school), and
is quick to dismiss Chandramukhi and her profession as 'Vile
and evil'. Yet he has no problem sitting through her
performance that evening, as like everyone gathered in the
hall, he too is mesmerized by her beauty and grace.

The following song - 'Kaahe Chhed Mohe' - is decidedly the

most classical song on the soundtrack, and also the most
choreographed. It also marks a new age for Bollywood, for if
33
ever anyone in the future attempts to depict a Hindustani
classical piece on screen, they would always have to use this
piece as a touch-stone, for it will be many years before we find
anything that can be called its' equal. Pandit Birju Maharaj,
who wrote and choreographed the track puts his all into
making Madhuri Dixit an instant icon (not that she wasn't one
already). Madhuri's dress here weighed almost thirty
kilograms, one is told, and the heavy zari and patternwork on
it far surpasses any other costume in the film. The dress may
be the centerpiece of the song, but it's the highly stylized
dance-form that is captivating and awe-inducing. At one point,
the group of dancers gather together in the manner of the
twirling dervishes, as the camera captures this spellbinding
scene from the ceiling. This is movie-making at its' best, and
Bhansali has clearly outshone Mani Ratnam in this art-form, at
least during this segment.

The only problem I had with the story from here on is that the
characters aren't fleshed out as well as one would imagine. At
points it seems as if the director is just putting book to screen
without much thought. Yet on the other hand, the script at
places almost outdoes itself in the way it speaks to the heart
of the viewer. Chandramukhi comes across as a fiery woman
who has chosen a hard profession to live by, and be judged
by, but the way she falls for Devdas and seems to be instantly
in love comes across as a bit contrived and forced. It could
well be that for a woman who sees nothing but boring old
men at her performances everyday, Devdas and his charm
come as a breath of fresh air, but for whatever reason, she
seems to be smitten rather easily. This minor glitch aside, we
are introduced to Milind Gunaji, who plays one of
Chandramukhi's admirers. He also happens to be Paro's step-
daughter's husband (as Paro had unwittingly married a man
34
whose wife had died and left him three grown children). He
hates it that Chandramukhi is taken with Devdas, and when
she spurs his advances with the song 'Maar Daala' ('I've been
killed'), he vows to get back at her. This song is another
astounding achievement in terms of grandeur and
choreography.

Its around this time that we are made aware of Devdas'

growing addiction to alcohol. To forget Paro and drown his
woes, he reluctantly takes up with Chandramukhi, though he
doesn't want to have anything physical to do with her. She
respects this distance, but still longs for their relationship to
move to another level. Simultaneously, Paro is adjusting to her
new home, and her new extended family. Aishwarya Rai's
acting abilities truly come to the fore here as she plays
different personas with ease and grace - she may not have
been a natural, but shes certainly been working on her skills in
the years since 'Hum dil de chuke sanam'. Sanjay Bhansali has
in many ways given her the hardest role to play. On one hand,
she is the grief-stricken girl who pines for her lover, on the
other, she is the new wife of an aristocrat, and has power and
money at her beck and call. On yet another, she is a new
mother, with three grown children to raise. Paro's sense of
duty to her family and society in general empowers her to
execute her roles without the slightest of external remorse,
but the audience feels her pain as she slowly starts dying
within. We are also introduced to a very private aspect of
Paro's life. Her husband, who has lost his first wife, is still very
much in love with her memory, and he tells Paro that even
though he respects her as the new mother of his children, he
can, by no means, have any physical relationship with her. I
suppose this suits Paro just fine, and in many ways, it's a
perfect way for the storyline to portray Paro as the eternally
35
pure virgin who is solely dedicated to the man she loves
(Devdas) but can never have.

In the meantime, Devdas' father passes away. His mother is

distraught when Devdas arrives at the funeral drunk and when
he sarcastically mumbles that the death of his father was a
'bad thing' that shouldn't have happened. The audience was
most appreciative of Shah Rukh Khan's performance here,
though it did seem a bit over-the-top. The problem with
playing a drunk person is that you have to really pull it off
without the slightest of reservations, or else it will show. Khan's
scene here manages to get away with it, but he is not as
successful in more dramatic sequences later on.

This is where the storyline gathers steam and propels the

movie into a zone that it hadn't yet visited. Paro discovers that
Devdas has been living with Chandramukhi for a while and
wants to get him away from her 'evil clutches'. When she
learns that the upcoming Durga Pooja festival requires that a
handful of soil be collected from the doorstep of a courtesan's
yard, she is quick to jump on the chance to visit
Chandramukhi first-hand. This sequence is one of the film's
most powerful, as the confrontation between the two women
quickly moves from awkwardness to spite, and ultimately to
friendship. This is when Paro 'loosens up'. She is doubtful of
Chandramukhi's honesty at first and uses all the usual clichés
in the book while insulting a prostitute. Yet, Chandramukhi,
being the most soft-spoken and dignified character in the film
(Madhuri outdoes herself) is never agitated, never upset.
When Paro demands that she hand over Devdas to her,
Chandramukhi takes her to her room, where theres a small
shrine she has retained. Devdas, isn't here physically, she says,
but he is everywhere in spirit. Paro then realizes that
36
Chandramukhi does love Devdas, and she seems to 'let go' of
him. The two become instant friends, and Paro invites her to
the Pooja celebrations.

There is a contradiction of sorts that occurs here. For one, Paro

in this sequence seems to indicate that she has 'gotten over'
Devdas, when she tells Chandramukhi that shes so glad
Devdas won't be alone anymore now that hes found her. I take
this as her endorsement of their relationship (or lack of one).
On the other hand, there is a very emotional sequence
between Devdas and Chandramukhi where she reveals to him
her love, and he actually reciprocates. I took this as a clear
indication that he loved her, even though she may not have
been his 'one true love'. Yet, as the film progresses, we realize
that Paro and Devdas just get more and more obsessed with
each other, and instead of moving on with their lives, they
simply crumble under pressure. While the characters do drift
away from each other momentarily, they are perpetually and
chronically obsessed with one another, and this pushes the
film toward its' inexorable climax.

Chandramukhi does visit Paro at her Calcutta home, where the

two break out into song and dance for the Durga Pooje
celebrations - 'Dola re Dola', the most commercial song on
the soundtrack. As the film's last big song, Bhansali spares no
expense in hurling the choicest of sets and costumes toward
our eyes. Not that we're complaining. Such opulence can only
exist in the mythical realm of Bollywood dreams, and 'Dola re
Dola' is everything a big-budget Bollywood song should be.
As with every Hindi movie song though, no questions are to
be asked. For example, how do the dancers and the lead
a c t re s s e s j u m p i n s t e p a n d p e r f o r m e l a b o rat e l y
choreographed dance-moves within minutes of meeting each
37
other? Were there secret practice sessions that went on
unbeknowest to the audience? Such mindless questioning is
pointless though. As a overly elaborate, and stunningly
(almost unbearably) decked dance sequence, this song works.
At the end of the song, Milind Gunaji steps out of the shadows
and prepares to exact his revenge. He insults Chandramukhi
in the presence of over a hundred people, and she gives him
a brilliant comeback, and defends her profession. If there is a
scene that entirely belongs to Madhuri, other than her dances,
this is it. When she storms out of the mansion, she is faced
with Devdas' ever-worsening condition, and attempts to nurse
him back to health. When the physicians determine that the
slightest overdose of alcohol could kill him, she pours herself
into being his guardian. However, Devdas is adamant, and
armed with the knowledge that he is near death's door, he
informs Chandramukhi of his decision to leave. She asks him
no questions, and is entirely supportive of him. This final
glimpse that we catch of Chandramukhi, standing at the door
of her beautifully lit haveli, as Devdas leaves her forever, is one
of many haunting images that this film is strewn with.

On the train back home, Devdas is seen going from bad to

worse. When his compartment-mate turns out to be Chunnilal
(one of the film's convenient twists on the old tale), Devdas
wastes no time in sharing a glass of alcohol as both friends
drink to each other's health. Chunnilal is oblivious of Devdas'
condition, and when the train reaches its' destination, Devdas
climbs out and hires a horse-driven carriage and driver to take
him to Paro's house. Here begins the most mesmerizing
portion of the movie. Paro is endlessly plagued by her
instincts - something tells her that theres a lot amiss - and she
is uneasy and nervous, though shes not sure why. When
Devdas does reach her house, he falls outside her gate,
38
lacking the energy to even crawl his way in. Bhansali's
attention to detail here is astounding. The direction here is of
the kind Bollywood has not yet produced - it draws from both
the genius of old Raj Kapoor films, as well as the stark imagery
of a Bernardo Bertolucci production. Paro, from her terrace,
notices a group of people hovered around a man outside and
upon asking her maids who the person is, she is told that its
someone who is possibly drunk and wasted. Paro doesn't find
this to be reason enough to think its Devdas, and she spends
the night tossing and turning. In the morning, she arises and
notices that the crowd is still gathered around the drunkard.
When the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall in place for Paro, is
when 'Devdas' gets on its final wheels and hurls us towards its
uncompromising destination. Paro is delirious when her
servants inform her that the man outside has her name
tattooed on his arm, and that letters in his pocket reveal that
his name is Devdas Mukherjee.

Aishwarya Rai literally makes 'Devdas' all her own from this
point on. Clad in a flowing white Bengali sari and looking
every inch the damsel in distress, she brings all her talent and
energy to the part of Paro. In a fit of almost insane
proportions, Paro rushes down the stairs and attempts to run
to the gate of the mansion. However, her strict husband, who
has had enough screenplay to prove that hes as cold-hearted
as the rest of Devdas' family, orders that all the doors be
locked and that the gate be shut.

This remarkable sequence forms the climax of 'Devdas'. It is

one of those rare instances where movie-making transcends
time and space, and when classics are truly born. Paro
manages to dodge the servants who have been summoned to
hold her down, and she flees towards the gate of the haveli.
39
There is a scene here where the camera looks down from
above, showing us just how far Paro is from Devdas, and
capturing the fortress-like quality of the house she lives in. The
last few minutes show Paro running toward Devdas, who is
only semi-conscious, while the staff attempt to close the two
large gate-doors shut. As she runs down the pathway, the
camera cuts to Devdas, the gates, and the anguish on her face
as she realizes she may not make it on time. Devdas sees her,
only through blurred vision, as a figure in white moving
toward him rapidly. When Paro is almost near the gates, it
slams shut, and Devdas at this point is so shock-ridden that he
has a heart attack. The acting here is of the highest caliber,
and nothing is overdone or over-stated. The theater I saw in
was silent during this whole episode, and women instantly
broke into tears once it had passed. Devdas dies outside
Paro's gate, while she slumps, in shock against the gates that
have closed upon her. The camera pans away, and the scene
fades. 'Devdas' ends.

Call it willful and deliberate toying of audience's emotions,

but this climax will ensure that 'Devdas' will become India's
'Titanic', a film for all time, all ages, and one that will be
remembered by generations to come. Personally, I am proud
of Bollywood for creating such a visual masterpiece, and for
not giving into all of the book's sometimes ludicrous
demands. For example, the original has Paro dying right after
Devdas (or so I'm told), and that Chandramukhi sees to it that
the two are buried next to one another. Nothing of the sort is
stated here. When Devdas dies, it is the only death that is
portrayed on screen. We are left to assume that Paro dies as
well, but this is not implied. I found this a very refreshing and
classy way of preserving the original, yet transforming it into a
completely new and vibrant tale. Full marks all around.
40
If at all there is something wrong with Devdas, its in the
casting of Jackie Shroff, who does nothing for himself or the
audience via the role of Chunnilal. It is the most weakly written
and executed role in the entire film. And while Madhuri Dixit is
a beautiful woman, her recent issues with weight come to the
fore in the film, especially during her commendable dance
performance with Aishwarya Rai, where the latter steals the
show with her cat-like prancing. And though every song is a
gem, there is an ode to alcohol at the end that is particularly
disconcerting as it ruins the continuity of the film and looks
sorely out of place. 'Devdas' also suffers from the same issues
that plagued 'Hum dil de chuke sanam'. Though the first half
had engrossing scenes between the leads and their parents,
the second half doesn't take the time to feature any of the
parents at all. Its as if once Paro is married off, both families
ceased existing. Not that we're complaining - Devdas' mother
is played by an actress whom I personally do not rank very
highly, and the 'evil relatives' theme is something this movie
was better off without. Unfortunately, the aspect of
unnecessary relatives does not apply to Devdas' family. When
Paro is married off, she is introduced to her 'elders' - one
woman in particular has a feisty yet composed conversation
with Paro, and we are led to believe that all of this would
eventually lead somewhere. Unfortunately, it doesn't. These
people, including Paro's step-daughter, simply fall off the face
of the film right after they are introduced, and are never to be
seen again.

41
Black
Release date: 4 February 2005

Debraj, a stubborn teacher, helps

Michelle, a girl with visual and hearing
impairment, explore her potential as
s h e t a ke s o n t h e c h a l l e n g e o f
graduating college.

My View.

Black is the colour of strength, power,

courage, etc. etc. imagine every inspiring and uplifting word
to interpret the colour. That is what director Sanjay Leela
Bhansali tries to convey with his latest offering ‘Black’, and, we
don’t question his sincerity. But when you make an operatic
mess out of it, one’s heart is bound to bleed.

A king sized story of a deaf-mute-blind girl inspired by her

teacher to achieve the impossible sounds good in the head
when read, but when you are having an over-the-top
experience of it in a darkened auditorium you just wish to curl
up in your seat or even better vanish into the thin air to avoid
further suffering. If you introspect on your anger against the
movie for while; you understand that it is because the story
somehow exposes you, your anguish, your thrills and your
sufferings (maybe underscored with a bit more melodrama
than you can take).

The fault lies in the director’s approach to the story. He has

just used one point of view to tell the story, as if trying to say
that you can make a disabled person achieve unimaginable
goals if you strive sternly and stubbornly, without even once
42
acknowledging the will, grit or the determination of the
disabled person.

Bhansali seems to be overwhelmed by the prospect of

directing the Amitabh Bachchan thereby forgetting to tell the
story in a holistic manner. Debraj Sahai (Amitabh Bachchan) is
a special teacher obsessed with the idea of bettering the lives
of the less advantaged with prospect of being thrown into
asylum because of their disability. He is assigned to tackle a
difficult case of a deaf-mute-blind girl Michelle McNally
(Ayesha Kapur/Rani Mukerji).

The premise looks promising upto this point; but what it

proceeds to shatters the build-up. The first task that the
teacher takes upon himself is to teach the stubborn girl some
table manners. What ensues is a violent game of one-
upmanship, which ultimately the teacher wins. There are a
couple of such long drawn sequences signifying that you
need to be cruel and stubborn to discipline a disabled child,
as if you are trying to tame a wild animal.

The film then goes on take a sober tone as the unruly girl
grows up to become a well-mannered and beautiful young
lady, well adjusted into the family aspiring to be educated in a
college. But you find it difficult to get out of the initial shock to
truly appreciate the more nuanced and subdued points, which
the story tries to throw up later on. Like the jealousy of the
younger sibling played by Nandana Sen, because every
mundane thing her sister succeeds in doing becomes a
moment to rejoice for their parents.

‘Black’ belongs to Amitabh Bachchan the actor; he relishes the

role tailor-made for him. Here he surpasses the superstar
43
image, by making himself look old and fragile. Again the
director is at fault for not letting us forget who he is, by
making him self proclaimed magician who is total control of
his surroundings.

Ayesha Kapur and Rani Mukerji are credible as the young and
the older Michelle respectively. They both have worked hard
to imbibe the physicality of the character and they have been
successful in doing so great extent.

On the whole, one is bound feel that Bhansali has not got over
his ‘Devdas’ hangover, as the same lavish theatrical quality of
manipulating the audience is evident here also. And, we
should not forget that he is same fellow who gave us
‘Khamoshi – The Musical’, a bit more natural story concerning
the disabled. So, if put to vote ‘Khamoshi’ will always stay a
few points above ‘Black’.

44
Saawariya
Release date: 9 November 2007

Raj, a free-spirited artist, falls in love

w i t h S a k i n a , w h o re j e c t s h i s
advances. When he tries to confess
his feelings, Sakina tells him that she
loves Imaan, who has promised to
return to her.

My View.

Sanjay Leela Bhansali takes Fyodor

Dostoevsky's White Nights -- a stark,
lovely story about romance born and rekindled over four
nights -- and, picking out its barest heart, proceeds to smother
it in mixed-up layers of trite melodrama. And money. And so
this soft core, this tender tale, is hidden -- under several reams
of indiscriminately wrapped silk and velvet, of loud noise and
harsh light, of bewildering backdrops and the colour blue --
so deep beneath smug self-indulgence and a bizarre budget
that you can't even hear the heartbeat anymore.

The story is simple: a minstrel, full to the brim with can-do

enthusiasm, falls in love with a fair maiden. All would be well,
except she is awaiting her faraway lover. Doggedly the singer
tries to awaken her love, while she loyally stalks the bridge
assigned to the some-night rendezvous. Over four nights,
love, loyalty and longing are all born and questioned.

We're told, most redundantly, that this is a tale set in a

different world. It is a fairytale realm reminiscent of the classic
Prince Of Persia video game, with gondolas and prostitutes
45
scattered around a wet Venetian nightmare. The architecture
is whimsical, as is the generous use of flickery neon. Clock
towers with hyperactive needles coexist merrily with sprawling
mosque courtyards and numerous tiny cobalt by-lanes lead
arterially out of the central tiny bridge area, most such roads
seeming to lead to the exorbitantly built brothel or the one-
resident-only guesthouse. It sounds fantastical and brilliant,
and could certainly have been, except it doesn't really have a
concept. Or a point.

Thus Omung Kumar gets to play madman art-director,

Bhansali letting him go wild and asking only that he be
theatrical and sporadic. 'Just paint everything blue and leave
lots of room for Raj Kapoor film references,' the brief could
well have read. And so runs the gamut, from azure to cerulean,
with walls and pillars and peculiar choices of artwork.

And while dollars are positively dripping from the scenery,

nothing is spectacular. Remember MF Hussain's Gajagamini?
Now replace the high concept in that film with a big budget.
The result is Saawariya, an underwhelming waste. Thousands
of Bollywood songs are shot with madcap little unreal
backdrops; Bhansali has just used one of those for his entire
film. One imagines it'll be a while before Sony Pictures grandly
bankrolls another Indian project.

Black, flaws and all, was very well shot. Here one can imagine
cinematographer Ravi K Chandran stifling a yawn. And if, for
God's sake, you're building an absurdist city-of-many-cities, at
least leave physical room for some mindblowing camerawork.
There are a few -- four, count them -- well-executed shots in

46
Saawariya, most of them simple cutaway shots. What in the
world has been thought-through in this movie?

Not the characters, certainly. Ranbir's Ranbir Raj tells Sonam's

Sakina that she knows everything about him: his name, where
he lives, what he does. One assumes that is all there exists in
their character sketches as well. Oh, and the boy is told to be
restless, the girl, patient. Outside of that, there is no depth,
despite the actress' limpid eyes and the actor's sometimes
cheeky grin. These are cardboard characters, lazily written and
ineffective. In a stylised world impossible to relate to, at least
the protagonists should have been flesh and blood.

Instead, the director hams.

Sanjay Leela Bhansali needs to be thwacked with a subtlety

stick, much like Sakina messily beats carpets hanging around
her. Everything is overblown and hyper-real in the director's
head, and there is no room for soft reality. The characters
populating his movie, therefore, cannot sob without hysteria
or laugh without sliding off a chair. A glare is held for ten
minutes, a coy glance for five. And the dialogue is
immeasurably grating, making the film's sub-130 minute
length seem twice as long.

It is a testament to the star-kids, then, that they've gamely

gone through these dizzying motions without afflicting career
hara-kiri. Ranbir, playing a character labeled over-lovable from
start to scratch, is often painfully exaggerated and moronic,
but he does salvage a few moments of charm where you feel
for him -- even if only sympathy at his debuting in this
production. There might be hope, sure. But then there's that

47
towel song, the most homoerotic picturisation in Hindi
cinema, which could likely take a few years to live down.

The gorgeous Sonam Kapoor is armed with a great laugh --

almost as infectious as her father's -- and one wishes she was
allowed to simper softly, instead of having a clearly
overdubbed plastic giggle plastered onto her. She has the
worst lines and moments in the script -- save for Rani
Mukerji's, where Bhansali clearly cashed in all his Black chips --
but there is a merciful agility to her movement, a fluidity to her
style. It is a character impossible to like, and yet she warms
you up to her.

The only times in the film the kids really, really work are when
the tension abruptly breaks and they burst into laughter. It is
almost as if -- or, possibly, because -- the director yelled cut
and two old friends dropped the painful masks and chilled.
God, how much better a Jab We Met style debut would have
been for these two.

A still from SaawariyaIt's hard to fathom what Bhansali expects

anybody to like in this film. With close to a dozen songs
assaulting us once every seven minutes, on average, there is
no room for the narrative to flow. The background score is
deafening, and the writing is so emotionally manipulative --
wait for the way Ranbir convinces Zohra Sehgal to let him
bunk with her -- it makes you want to pen down an alternate
script in immediate protest. And, despite conjuring up
moments with legends like Sehgal and Begum Para --
irresistible when devoutly mouthing Mughal-E-Azam
dialogues -- these are too few and far between. Are we
actually supposed to enjoy Ranbir doing dad Rishi's
48
rabblerousing lines from Karz, or laugh at Rani's pathetic half-
malapropisms? Please.

What's the deal, Mr Bhansali? This isn't a Luchino Visconti

remake, as many had feared, but a bizarre reworking, an
overbaked version of a very simple romance. Dozens of
dancing prostitutes do not a Federico Fellini make, sir.

This film opens with Ranbir, off-screen, persuading a whore to

listen to two lines of song. She deigns to listen and he picks
up his blue six-string. And instead of an eager-to-please youth
fumbling with a scratchy guitar, we get -- after a sudden title
screen with the star-kids' name, a la Rajnikanth -- a mega
song-and-dance production, a full-blown intro. No wonder the
heartbeat is muted.

49
Guzaarish
Release date: 19 November 2010

Renowned former magician Ethan,

now a quadriplegic, files a petition
for euthanasia. While he awaits
the verdict, Omar, a young magic
enthusiast, convinces Ethan to
pass on his legacy to him.

My View.

With GUZAARISH, Bhansali returns

with his own colourful world
painted on the celluloid which sadly never rises above mere
being a beautiful painting throughout. Though supported by
some earnest performances by the cast, it’s once again an all
inspired show from the famous & reputed director who
continues with his more than a decade old habit of making
movies on all borrowed concepts. Yes, there are few
appreciable scenes in GUZAARISH in the name of originality,
but as a film it fails to move you emotionally and leaves a very
feeble kind of impact in the end with a very gutless climax.

Firstly I would like to discuss it as an inspired movie, which

doesn’t allow me to write about its director with a great
amount of praise. Right from the year 1996 each and every
film of Sanjay Leela Bhansali (from KHAMOSHI to
SAAWARIYA) has been based on inspired subjects. But still
the reason why the director has been able to achieve such cult
status in Bollywood undoubtedly remains his unique style of
treatment, artistic sense of colours and his keen musical ear.
Evidently GUZAARISH also has got all the above mentioned
50
qualities as expected from Bhansali. It is well shot, beautifully
designed and brilliantly crafted. But somehow it doesn’t have
a lovable and soothing soul which can make you feel the
things happening on the screen (as you can feel in its
ORIGINAL Source movies)

This time the gifted director makes up a story mixing more

than one movie from the West. A man suffering from a
complete Paralysis of the body other than his face, asking for
merci death is taken from two movies. One is the Spanish
Award Winning movie MAR ADENTRO or THE SEA INSIDE
(2004) and the other is WHOSE LIFE IS IT ANYWAY (1981). The
idea of magic and the plot of rivalry between two famous
magicians leading to a serious conspiracy is taken from THE
PRESTIGE (2006). Here I would like to add that inspiration is
acceptable if used in a fine way putting many things of your
own in the end product. But what’s the use of copying entire
sequences from a movie and then trying to present it as your
own without any kind of acknowledgement or courtesy.

For instance the accident scene of Hrithik leading to the life

changing injury is striking similar to the one in THE SEA
INSIDE. The only difference is that in the Original the person
unknowingly jumps into a less deep river and in GUZAARISH,
Hrithik falls in a water pit while displaying his magic act. And
they both severely break their neck on their fall. Further, the
whistling act done by Hrithik to call a help, a female lawyer
friend of the deceased, the scene where the court verdict is
announced on the TV and Aishwarya’s final offer to help
Hrihtik in the end………everything is as it is taken from the
same film.

51
Moreover, moving on a completely different path from the
ORIGINALS, Bhansali very unacceptably tries to glamorize the
subject of MERCI DEATH with all that magic and love angles
thrown in which fail miserably running along the emotional
subject of the film. It’s in fact very funny to see Hrithik giving a
Big book to the kid with all the secrets in it and teaching his
magic trick to him (just like that), without any kind of detailed
scene and explanation. It was a clear indication that Bhansali
had used this topic of Magic in his script only to add some fun
element in the otherwise serious plot and nothing else.

In addition to the above, very amateurishly, the director shies

away from showing the real death of the main character in the
end and just decides to fade away into the dark with his
smiling face on the screen. In my opinion, if you have decided
to make a film on the subject of Wishful DEATH, then you
should at least have the guts to depict the ACTUAL DEATH of
the character on the wide screen. But Bhansali decides not to
show a dying Hrithik in the end and tries to give a happy
ending to his viewers, which is not all effective as it should
have been. So, as an inspired movie it is not upto the mark
since it keeps deviating from its main topic and is not able to
generate any similar kind of impact like its Original Sources.

Now secondly I would like to discuss it as an audience, who is

not aware of its inspirational angles at all. Unfortunately from
this viewpoint too, I didn’t find GUZAARISH a very emotional
or touching movie not to be missed. You may watch it as a
piece of art with very fine colourful sets made with complete
detailing, good costume designing or for a soothing
background score. You may watch it for some well directed
sequences dealing with a leaking roof or caressing nurse. And
you may watch it if you are die-hard fan of Hrithik Roshan. But
52
don’t expect anything great which will make you think about
DEATH or about the people who wish to die willfully against
the law.

As I see it, the movie is not an exceptional thought provoking

venture from Bhansali since it lacks the much required
emotional depth and feel. It starts off brilliantly but is not able
to impress a lot till its intermission. In the second half too, the
characters never sinks deep inside your soul and make you
cry. In other words, you keep watching their sufferings and
pain but still don’t feel moved enough to cry along with them.
There are several sub plots in the script which are not utilized
to their full potential and remain questionable. For example,
the Radio Jockey angle (inspired from LAGEY RAHO
MUNNABHAI) had great potential in it but falls flat, the people
protest against the court is very poorly directed, looking
childish and Rajit Kapoor as the public prosecutor is made to
overact in his few scenes.

Besides this I really couldn’t understand the MOTHER angle in

the script which was completely unbelievable. Even if the son
strongly insists, still how can a mother live far away from her
young son suffering from an almost full body paralysis being
looked after by a paid nurse for 12 long years. In fact this
motherly expression of the director raised many questions in
my mind since I simply couldn’t accept that a mother can ever
think of living away from his deceased son in the given
circumstances.

Musically, GUZAARISH has few good numbers with some

meaningful lyrics. But the tracks are not catchy enough to
bowl you over in only one listening as you may have felt
previously in a Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s movie. The best one is
53
the title track which is melodiously composed and sung. But
considering the fact that Bhansali has himself given the music
for this film, I would only like to say that having a keen sense
of music and musical ear is quite different to being a music
director having immense knowledge of music and musical
arrangements. Shot beautifully GUZAARISH is as usual a visual
treat for the audience. But the director seems to be pretty
confident in the indoors more than the outdoors. Apart from
its brilliant cinematography, the other winners in the film are
its soothing background score and sensitive dialogues, which
keep you engrossed in an otherwise offbeat kind of subject
revolving around merci killing.

Performance wise, I may have a different opinion than many.

Hrithik no doubt has worked hard with his utmost sincerity.
But frankly I was not moved emotionally by his pure act. He
surely looked and behaved like the painful character on the
screen but I didn’t feel his pain as I did along with him in KOI
MIL GAYA. At times I even felt his smile, laugh and dialogue
delivery style as seen before somewhere (may be in KOI MIL
GAYA only). Aishwarya too for me was just fine with a far
better performance in the second half than the first.
Particularly I found her doing a little overacting in the air
drumming scene before the song sequence in the club. But
both Hrithik and Aishwarya are at their best towards the
climax. Here Hrithik indeed deserves a praise to accept such
kind of role which had nothing for his millions of children fans.
His KITES had nothing for them either so he really needs to
seriously think about that while choosing his future projects.
Aditya Roy Kapur is even better than his previous films and
has got a great talent to look for. Shernaz Patel impresses as
always in a Bhansali movie. Suhel Seth and Nafisa Ali are fine

54
in their small roles. But Moni Kangana Dutta shows no sparks
as publicized in the press before the release of the movie.

55
Goliyon Ki Rasleela Ram-Leela
Release date: 15 November 2013

Ram and Leela, passionately in

love with each other, realize that
the only way to stop the
bloodshed between their
respective clans, Rajari and
Sanera, is to sacrifice their own
lives.

My View.

Ram Leela is an adaptation of

William Shakespeare's Romeo
and Juliet - a tale of the romance of two lovers from two
feuding families. Bhansali's Romeo is Ram and his Juliet is
Leela (which is also his real life mother's name). The film is set
in rural Gujarat with the two families being called as Saneda
and Rajadi. The film is the story of Ram and Leela caught in the
melee of the warring clans who then eventually sacrifice
themselves for peace between the two communities. The
story's plot is a hackneyed one but as he does in other films,
in Ram Leela too, Bhansali uses his deft and expansive
imagination to give us a melange of colors that is a sheer
visual treat for the eyes. No one can use the camera with such
accomplishment the way he does.

Bhansali uses many recurring and vivid leitmotifs in Ram Leela.

My favorite was the one on the peacock. In Hinduism, the
peacock is associated with Lakshmi who is a deity
representing benevolence, patience, kindness, compassion
and good luck. The feather of the peacock is also associated
56
with Lord Krishna who was loved by his numerous gopis with
whom he played Raas Leela. The peacock is a symbol of
beauty, prosperity, royalty, love, compassion, soul and peace.
In Buddhism, a peacock symbolizes purity and its feathers are
used for purification ceremonies. In Bhansali's world, the
peacock is a metaphor for love. His hero Ram is the peacock
who spreads the message of love everywhere as at one point
he says, "make love, not war." I lost the count of the times I
saw something or the other related to a peacock in the movie.
In fact, I felt this film was a tribute to the peacock. In the
beginning title credits of the movie, Bhansali writes a eulogy
for Late Jhaverchand Meghani for using his song Mor Bani
Thangat Kare in the film. The film begins with that song which
is a lyrical melody that signifies the happiness of the human
heart in dancing like a peacock.

The movie opens and in the first scene, we see a group of

women. In the background, we hear the screaming of a
peacock. From there till the end, Bhansali adorns Ram Leela
with the peacocks. When Ram meets Leela in the Romeo-and-
Juliet-inspired balcony scene, a peacock is there right beside
her which flies away when Ram enters. Later, when Ram enters
Leela's rooms, the conversation they have is filled with
peacock-related metaphors. Ram says, "mor ko bhi vohi
chahiye jo humein chahiye"; to which Leela replies, "mor apna
pankh kholte hai aur bas dance karte hai." Ram says, "karne se
pehle hum kapde kholte hai vo pankh kholte hai." Then
Raseela knocks on the door and says, "tera mor nikla nahi abhi
tak", confirming that Ram is the peacock. The cushions and the
pillows in Leela's room are all of the peacock color. Again, the
song Mor Bani Thangat Kare plays in the background.

57
At one point in the movie, Raseela says to Leela, "main sab
samajhti hun main tere kamre se kaunse more ka shor aata
hai." In another scene, Ram comes to visit Leela again, we see
that while going back to her room, Leela uses a tree and Ram
also joins her. I mean when she has the stairs available to go
back why will she climb the tree? Because like peacocks and
peahens climb the trees, they both do too as they are the
embodiment of the love represented by the peacock.

Later in the movie, when Leela is forced to come back to her

place, she recites a number of messages and one of them
reads, "morni bina mor kis kaam ka, yeh sindur hai Ram naam
ka." At another point in the movie, when Dhankor invites Ram
to her place, she sends a dead peacock to Ram and says,
"humare beech me mor bahut bolne lage the, lekin ab
dushmani no more." Again, this unambiguously was referring
to the fact that she is going to kill him as lately some peacocks
(love) were speaking among them.

After Dhankor cuts Leela's finger and she is lying in her bed,
Ram comes and puts a blood-stained mark on her window as
if he has cut his finger too as he wants to go through the same
pain Leela is going through. When she wakes up and goes out
to the balcony, a peacock is seen fluttering its winds
symbolizing that Ram is the peacock that came to visit her.
This was my favorite scene in the movie.

Another scene that demonstrated Bhansali's creative

ingenuity was the rape that never happened. After Raseela is
assaulted by Rajadi men, Dhankor sanctions the same for
Kesar. When Saneda men are running after Kesar, Bhansali
creates an enthralling sequence like that of the prey and the
predator - just like there are goats in that scene. Again, a
58
peacock is seen fluttering its feathers on a tree. I was stumped
by this scene as to what it meant. The peacock's presence in
that particular scene was bewildering because the peacock
represents Ram and why is he there? Then, I thought about it a
lot and I think that peacock's presence in that scene was like
Lord Krishna's in Mahabharata during Draupadi's cheer haran.
As one might recall, Duryodhana had ordered the
disrobement of Draupadi when the Pandavas lost the gamble
and none of the adults raised a voice to stop that. Draupadi
then prayed to Lord Krishna who protected her by providing
her an endless piece of cloth. Think of the similarities here.
Kesar's assault is ordered by Dhankor. Draupadi and Krishna
were devar-bhabhi and the same holds for Kesar and Ram.
The peacock's presence in that scene was perhaps referring
to the notion that he will protect her just the way Lord Krishna
did. At one point, Kesar's dupatta is picked up by Bhavani (like
Dushasan) but eventually, nothing happens to her. Ram was
not only Ram but Krishna as well because in the song Ang
Laga De, we seem Ram as Krishna. I take the liberty of the
Mahabharata reference because, at one point in the movie,
there is a line in the film that says, "pet se Abhimanyu bhi
seekh ke aya tha, lekin chakravyuh se vo bhi bahar nahi nikla.”

Now, let me talk about the songs and the choreography which
I loved like anything. The music has actually been composed
by Bhansali himself and it is so good that it makes me wonder
if there is anything that he cannot do it. I was amazed by the
spiritual connections in every song of the film.

When I had first heard and watched the song Tattad Tattad, I
was indifferent to it but when I watched it in the context of the
movie, I was thrilled by its brilliance. The song is an
introductory sequence of Bhansali's eponymous hero, Ram.
59
With this song, Bhansali shows us that not only is Ram an
avatar of Lord Rama but he also imbibes characteristic
elements of other deities. There are pictures of Lord Rama
everywhere. But there is also Lord Krishna in the song. The
dancers with the blue bodies who are wearing peacock
feathers in their heads symbolized Lord Krishna. At one point,
some girls faint on seeing him as if they are Krishna's gopis.
The song is shot in Hanuman Gali and there are some dancers
dressed as Hanuman. There are shops and carts that are
named Somnath and have a 'shivling' painted on them. Thus,
Bhansali's hero Ram is an amalgamation of all these deities.
He has Lord Rama's virtue, Krishna's playfulness, Shiva's
power of destruction, and Hanuman's loyalty - which as we
later see in the movie will fit him perfectly. Besides that, a
number of other birds and animals are present in the song.
There is a parrot which I think was symbolic of Kama Dev. The
vehicle of Kam Dev is a parrot. Because at one point later in
the movie, Ram's brother Megh had remarked, "dekho
sakshat Kam Dev chale aa rahe hain." Not only was Kam Dev a
symbol of the philandering nature of Ram, but also a
reference to Brahma too because according to some legends
Kam Dev is the son of Brahma. There is a big bird in the song
which was a representation of Garuda who is the vehicle of
Vishnu. There are many shops named after Lakshmi who is the
wife of Vishnu. Thus, this song has the holy trinity in the song -
Brahma, Vishnu (Lord Ram and Krishna are Vishnu's
incarnations) and Mahesh (Shiv). Did I mention the numerous
peacocks? :) Also, if you notice Ram's dance move especially
the signature movement of hand behind the head is very
symbolic of a peacock's dancing. I was convinced that Ram is
the peacock from this song itself.

60
The second song Lahu Munh Lag Gaya is another gorgeous
piece of choreography in the film. Bhansali uses more
peacocks in this song as well. The lamps that are being lit at
the back have peacocks! Also, Ram's neck is peacock colored.
Even Leela's earrings are in the shape of peacock wings.
Beautiful lyrics and even more beautiful choreography.

This song reminded me so much of Aankhon ki Gustaakhiyaan

from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. The scene where Sameer
burns his hand on the diya is exactly similar to the way Ram
burns his hand on the diya. Also, the garba dance scenes are
present in both the songs.

In the item song Ram Chahe Leela, there are more peacocks.
The song begins with a peacock's painting. The curtains have
peacocks. The lyrics have peacocks. The dancing has so many
peacock-related steps. If these were not enough, even
Priyanka's dress has peacocks!

Nagada Sang Dhol Baaje is another colorful and exquisitely

choreographed song in the movie. There are some deep
spiritual undertones to this song as well. This song reminded
me of Dhol Baaje from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. Nagada
Sang is a tribute to Shabri from Ramayana. Shabri was a
devotee of Lord Rama and she is singing to him. She is
eagerly waiting for him and wants him to come to her and
bless her. She has brought betels for him. She is asking Lord
Rama to stay at her ashram as she wants to have the honor of
serving him. But Lord Ram politely refuses and tells her that he
can’t do that as his wife Sita is all alone at their hut and she is
anticipating him and Lakshman, his brother.

61
In this song too, there are references to peacocks as one line
talks about how the peacocks are singing in the gardens. The
lamp that Leela lights has a peacock on it and even the bells
have peacocks on them.

What was also fascinating was the presence of trimurti in this

song too. The sculpture at the top of the building has a
trimurti that is a replica of the one in Elephanta Caves in
Mumbai. Dhankor prays to the pot that has water used to
worship Ambe Maa. She becomes so lost in it as if the
goddess' spirit has entered into her as we say 'mata ayi hai.'

Another song that left me spellbound was Ang Laga De Re.

The song begins when Leela lights a lamp and we see a
painting of Radha and Krishna (with a peacock feather again!).
Radha is Leela and Krishna is Ram. Leela is praying to
Goddess Lakshmi, who as I mentioned earlier, is also
associated with a peacock. She is trying to seduce Ram. The
song is picturized splendidly and is imbued with divine motifs,
such as the gorgeous paintings of Raja Ravi Verma. Outside
the window, we see some temples and a religious procession
of a group of saints who in all likelihood are carrying a palki of
Lord Krishna and Radha to get them married. In that precise
moment, we hear the sound of the temple bells and the vedic
chants as if the priests have blessed the wedding of not only
Krishna and Radha but our own Ram and Leela. Ram puts
sindoor on Leela's head at that very moment. Thereafter, Ram
and Leela engage in passionate love making signifying their
sacred union has been blessed by the gods. Beautifully
conceptualized and executed. Loved it.

Thus, in some way or the other, the songs of Ram Leela

contained something or the other based on a peacock. I was
62
just stunned by the beauty of the songs. My slight
disappointment was that my favorite song from the film Laal
Ishq was not there at all. It was there only in bits and pieces. I
would have loved to see what Bhansali does with that lilting
melody. I am sure he would have done it fabulously. But the
one song I absolutely hated was Ishqiyaon Dhishkiyaon. After
watching such masterpieces, I was confounded as to why
exactly that song was there because it was so un-
Bhansaliesque. The deep meaning of the songs is without a
doubt the best thing about Ram Leela. I have been watching
them again and again and just can't get enough of them,
teaching me something new every single time.

In the final scene of the film, when Ram and Leela are being
carried away, we see a peacock on the terrace again
symbolizing that in the end, their love triumphed to bring the
peace between the two communities.

Now, let me come to my other favorite part of the movie. Not

only is Ram Leela a tribute to peacocks, but this is Bhansali's
love song for Raja Ravi Verma as well. His paintings are
everywhere. Almost all of his paintings are used somewhere
or the other. I was so fascinated by the paintings that I read
about them everywhere I could find. I had seen some of his
paintings earlier but now after reading and seeing so many of
them, I can say I am a big Ravi Verma fan. His paintings are
charming and graceful. His portrayal of women characters is
especially worth noting. Bhansali places these paintings
strategically depending on the situation and the character.
From Leela's rooms that have a picture of Shakuntala waiting
for her Bharat to Dhankor's house where there is a painting of
Maneka and her daughter Shakuntala to the lodge where Ram
and Leela stayed that had paintings of a romantic couple to
63
the gorgeous Ram Leela procession in the climax that had
paitnings of Ram and Sita. These paintings simply accentuated
the level of the film for me.

Bhansali creates wonderful characters in Leela and Dhankor.

His Leela is impulsive, brave, and sexually liberated. She has
the courage to kiss a stranger in front of many people without
thinking of the consequences. She reads the raunchy Mills &
Boon's The Duke's Cinderella Bride; she has bags of Marilyn
Monroe and Audrey Hepburn; she has paintings of Shakuntala
in her room as she is herself waiting for her own Bharat. At
one point, Ram says to her, "jitni tu sexy hai, utni danger hai."
Without a doubt, she had a rebellious streak in her. That may
be because of her dictatorial mother. Because at one point
she says to Ram, "dushman hai tabhi to aankhen lad rahi thi
baar baar tujhse?”

Dhankor is also a very powerful character. She is very strong

from the exterior or at least she tries to be. There were
spiritual shades to her character as well. When her son dies,
she did not shed a tear and just recited a shlok from Geeta.
Her house had walls on which shlokas were written. Even the
curtains in her house had shlokas written on them.

Ram Leela showed a very different Bhansali. He is not the

Bhansali of Saawariya or the Bhansali of Black. Yes, there are
shades of the Bhansali of Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. This is a
Bhansali that reminded me more of Anurag Kashyap and
Vishal Bharadwaj. The show of guns, the lyrics of Ishkiyaaon
Dishkiyaaon, the rambunctiousness of his hero, the ephemeral
nature of taking away someone's life - all these made me
somewhat uncomfortable. I am an old school Bhansali fan. It
was as if Bhansali was showing it to the world that yes, I too
64
can make a film like the Kashyaps and this new breed of film
makers. In fact, in that scene when Leela says to Ram, "Tere to
baal hi nahi hai", it was as if he is taking revenge on Anurag
Kashyap for mocking his Devdas in Dev D. In a pre-coital
scene in Dev D, Paro takes off Dev's shirt and says, "Tere bade
baal hai." Later, Anurag had used Bhansali's Devdas in his film.
In Ram Leela, I felt Bhansali was giving it back to the world that
I too can make such films.

65
Bajirao Mastani
Release date: 18 December 2015

The heroic Peshwa Bajirao,

married to Kashibai, falls in love
with Mastani, a warrior princess
in distress. They struggle to
make their love triumph amid
opposition from his conservative
family.

My View.

Bajirao Mastani is almost

everything the world has come
to expect from a Sanjay Leela Bhansali film. Almost. It is a
ravishing spectacle, the costumes are lush, the jewellery
dazzling, the sets extravagant, the cinematography brilliant,
the frames painterly, the lead cast more gorgeous than you
would imagine human beings could be. For this alone, it is
worth watching.

There is more to it than that though. The director's latest film is

told as a fable about the love between the 18th century
Maratha warrior Peshwa Bajirao I and his second wife Mastani.
The tone is trance-like and dreamy even when it is operatic
and melodramatic, like a whisper passed down through
generations and swirling about somewhere in the mists of a
distant, mythical time.

This is an interesting narrative choice considering that the two

lead characters are in fact historical figures and their romance
is not an apocryphal story. It is a choice (made no doubt with
66
the goal of not offending any community or angering
historians) that permits the storyteller to be poetic, to
fictionalise and dramatise to his heart's content, even while
staying as faithful to history texts as it is possible while
chronicling the intimate lives of public figures.

Bajirao is a skilled soldier, a great leader and Peshwa (prime

minister) to Chhatrapati Shahu of the Maratha Empire. Mastani
is the valiant daughter of Bundelkhand's Maharaja Chhatrasal
with his Muslim queen Ruhaani Bai. Since Bajirao is already
married when they first meet during the course of one of his
battles, he returns home alone to his much-in-love wife
Kashibai. But Mastani pursues Bajirao and they later marry.

The film is about the two simultaneous battles subsequently

fought by one of the greatest warriors known to this country,
the first one to expand the Chhatrapati's empire and the other
to gain acceptance for Mastani among his family.

From the start it is evident that Bajirao Mastani is Bhansali's

ode to K Asif's Mughal-e-Azam, the folktale about the love
between the Mughal crown prince Salim (later to become
Emperor Jehangir) and the slave girl Anarkali. Yet, it is unlike
that iconic 1960 film, or its precursor about the same legend,
Nandlal Jaswantlal's Anarkali (1953), or even the story of the
prince's father Akbar's political-romantic alliance with his
Rajput Hindu wife Jodha Bai recounted by Ashutosh
Gowariker in Jodhaa Akbar (2008). The difference from these
three memorable films lies in the fact that Bajirao Mastani
doesn't deify its pivotal romance by making it seem like its
central male character is committed to just one woman or by
brushing aside uncomfortable questions about male infidelity
and the fleeting nature of this particular hero's feelings.
67
Bhansali doesn't evade this tricky territory, instead giving
Kashibai a crucial scene in which she asks Mastani about the
reliability of Bajirao's heart that is set on one woman at one
time, another at another time and who knows who next.
Mastani clearly has no answer besides her own affection for
him. She does not bat an eyelid when Bajirao impregnates
Kashi without feeling conflicted about his emotions or actions.
And she does not see his relationship with her as faithlessness
towards Kashi who he describes as not just his wife but also
his friend.

While the film makes it hard for us to be out-and-out angered

by Bajirao's hypocrisy, it certainly calls out the hypocrisy of his
family and advisers who, as he points out, would have been
willing to accept Mastani as his concubine but not his wife.
Equally special is the way the film negotiates Hindu-Muslim
equations. Many of today's Hindutva-vaadis hold up the 17th
and 18th century Marathas as flag-bearers of a Hindu Rashtra,
as antagonists of Muslims and as a people who fought off
"Muslim rule" in what they believe is "Hindu India". Bhansali's
starting block with this film is in itself a position against their
interpretation of history since he chooses to tell the story of a
Maratha's love for a Muslim. He takes it further with the
Peshwa's open declaration that his battle with the Mughals is
restricted to his desire to extend the Chhatrapati's territory
and has nothing to do with their religion.

These then are the most fascinating aspects of the film: the
unromanticised envisioning of Bajirao as a good man with
shades of grey; the refusal to sidestep a first wife's pain even if
her husband is the film's hero, and his relationship with his
second wife is what folklore has placed on a pedestal; and the
68
telling ambiguity about who is opposing Mastani out of
affection for Kashi and who out of disdain for her being
Muslim.

These elements are further augmented by the excellent

principle cast - Ranveer Singh as Bajirao, Deepika Padukone
as Mastani and Priyanka Chopra as Kashibai - supported by a
bunch of talents, most especially Tanvi Azmi as Bajirao's
formidable mother.

Though Kashi gets less screen time than the titular characters,
Priyanka makes the film as much her own as theirs, shining
with grace, poise and restraint each time she comes on
screen. She also slips comfortably into the role of a Maratha
woman, tweaking her body language to fit the part and going
well beyond the crutch of that sparkling nose ring and those
lavish outfits.

The camera is occasionally distracted by Mastani's luminous

beauty, but Deepika still manages to lend depth to her
character. She also reminds us of her penchant for action in
one of the film's best scenes, in which she single-handedly
fends off a group of attacking swordsmen.

To stand out in the presence of these scintillating ladies takes

some doing, but Ranveer achieves precisely that, reaching
into himself for this character to deliver his best performance
till date. In a break from the assembly-line uniformity of most
male bodies in Hindi films these days (and his own over-
muscled torso in the otherwise-lovely Ram-leela) he also gets
his body right for the role. Hard though it is, with Bajirao
Mastani he actually makes us forget that boy who stormed

69
into our lives as the fabulous Bittoo who did "binness" on
debut in Band Baaja Baaraat.

The use of language in the film too is neatly done. I'm not an
expert on Marathi but the dialect that these characters speak
blended with Hindi flows with natural ease. Thankfully, none of
the actors is 'doing an accent'. Instead, their speech is nicely
nuanced in its intonations.

If Bajirao Mastani falls short of being what it might have been

despite these positives, it is for two reasons: the songs
(Bhansali's compositions are a let-down); and the smattering
of self-indulgent scenes that slow it down especially in the
post-interval portion, with spectacle subordinating all else.
Like the unwell Peshwa's elongated, feverish hallucinations; or
when Bajirao swishes and swings a chuttuvaal in each hand
and barges solo into an enemy force. This whip-like sword
with a flexible blade is used in Kalaripayattu, the martial art
form from Kerala in which Ranveer trained for this role, and
the actor looks amazingly at home with it. But the scene itself
is no less silly - despite the more stylised presentation - than
Sunny Deol single-handedly taking on the entire Pakistan
Army with a hand pump in Gadar.

This is also what ails the relatively pretty-sounding song Pinga

featuring both leading ladies. The women dance impeccably
yet the focus is so much on the look that the feel is lost. That
electricity Bhansali conjured up in the Dola re duet between
Madhuri Dixit and Aishwarya Rai in Devdas (2002) is missing
here, and Pinga ends up looking like a me-too and an also-
ran.

70
In the rest of the songs, the choreography is heart-stopping,
the dancers energetic or elegant as required, but the tunes
are unremarkable. This is why Deepika's dance to Deewani
Mastani in the luxuriant Aina Mahal looks stunning yet does
not match up to a number that it is evidently paying tribute to:
Mughal-e-Azam's Pyaar kiya to darna kya in which Anarkali
challenged Akbar through words, music and dance in another
unforgettable hall of mirrors.

Still, there is more to love than lament in Bajirao Mastani. Note

the scene in which a mob of shadows seems to march towards
the Peshwa before the camera raises its head from the floor
and we realise that they come from a band of purposeful
Brahmins. Note the many other scenes in which diyas, mirrors
and silks shimmer like liquid gold. Note too Bajirao's
secularism, his reminder to us that all religions preach love yet
love has no religion, his open defiance of the clergy, Mastani's
courage and passion, Kashibai's dignity despite her limited
choices, and that lovely moment of bonding between mother-
in-law and daughter-in-law.

Despite its shortcomings then, this is a brave and beautiful

film - beautiful to look at, beautiful in its position on religion,
brave in its take on history, brave in its unwillingness to paint
religious groups or its primary characters as black or white.

Bhansalified history, as it turns out, makes for good cinema.

71
Padmaavat.

Release date: 25 January 2018

Queen Padmavati is happily

married to a Rajput ruler until a
tyrant Sultan, Alauddin Khilji,
enters their life and calls a war
on their kingdom due to his
obsession with the queen.

My View.

Bhansali’s Padmaavat (2018) is

based on the Epic poem
“Padmaavat” introduced to us by
Malik Muhammad Jayasi, about
two centuries after the attack on Chittor took place. Jayasi was
from the region of Jayasi in North India and had been initiated
in the Chisti Sufi lineage of Saiyid Ashraf Jahangir Simnani. In
the sixteenth century, when Padmaavat was written, it was
common for the Sufi pirs to provide religious legitimation to
the ruling elite in return for the patronage the rulers gave
them. “The choice for the story of the siege of Chittor and the
role of the Rajput queen Padmaavati as the main theme of
Padmaavat makes the poem particularly relevant in this
context. It locates the poet in a literary field defined by the
interests of both worldly and religious patrons,” writes
historian Thomas de Bruijn in his book ‘Ruby in the dust:
history and poetry in Padmaavat by the South Asian Sufi poet
Muhammad Jayasi.

From the fifteenth century new Rajput ruling lineages claimed

lineal and political descent from the predecessors who had
been destroyed by Khilji. Historian Ramya Sreenivasan notes
that this was the period from when the Rajput memory of
72
Alauddin Khilji’s invasion began to be actively reshaped
focusing on the valor of the monarch of Chittor who resisted
Khilji’s attacks. One of the first texts to participate in this
celebration of Rajput history was the Kanhadade Prabandh,
which was commissioned by the Chauhan chief of Jalor. The
narration of Padmaavati by Jayasi, needs to be contextualized
in this new form social order that had emerged in Rajasthan.
Awadh at this time was populated by a large number of Rajput
elites. Sreenivasan has located the creation of Padmaavat in
the sixteenth century politics of Awadh, where the rising
influence of Sher Shah Suri had led to great anxiety among
the Rajput elites. Further, she also pointed to the historicity of
another king Ratansen who was the Rana of Chittor in the
sixteenth century. Under his reign, nine years before the
Padmaavat was written, an episode of mass immolation had
taken place in Chittor, just before its conquest by Bahadur
Shah of Gujarat. It is possible that Jayasi in his narration of
Padmaavat was transporting contemporary politics to a
historical period. “As these Awadh elites were deeply involved
in the patronage of Chisti Sufis, it seems all the more justified
to position Jayasi’s Padmaavat in this context,” writes Thomas
de Bruijn.

The construction of Padmaavat’s narrative in the form of a

fantastical tale of love needs to be located in the influence of
other literary and cultural traditions of the sixteenth century in
North India had on Sufi literature. Such narratives of a king
falling in love with a beautiful princess, overcoming all
obstacles in the process of acquiring her and in their union
the king obtaining spiritual apogee was an imagery common
among Jain, Persian and other folk genres of the period and
Jayasi was bound to be inspired by it.

73
The poet Amir Khusro, who flourished during the Khilji rule,
gave a detailed account of the king’s conquests as well as his
reign in the 13th century. The poet is also portrayed in
Bhansali’s Film Padmaavat (2018). The poet did not gives any
account of Padmaavati or any reference about the cause of
Khilji’s Invasion of Chittor was actually to acquire a woman as
portrayed in Malik Muhammad Jayasi Narrative and Bhansali’s
Narrative.

The historical Khilji was like most medieval rulers of his time a
tough, often cruel and ruthless man but he was not a savage.
According to historical record he was a civilized man
according to his time, a brave soldier and clever tactician who
saved India from the Mongol hordes as many as six times. In
Padmaavat, Sanjay Leela Bhansali has portrayed the Muslim
Sultan of Delhi Alauddin Khilji as a capricious barbarian who
happily murders his way to power. Just in case anyone forgets
he is a Muslim and a villain, Bhansali has given him lots of
meat to eat, lots of green flags with crescents, his clothes are
dark, he has strange scars and his palace is filled with gloom.

Historian Rana Safvi believes that Khilji was anything but

savage. It was under his rule the Delhi Sultanate heavily drew
from Persia, one of the oldest and most sophisticated
civilisations of all time, she said. “The rulers followed the exact
code of conduct and etiquette as in Persia. It would have been
very formal, the eating, dining and sartorial choices,” said
Safvi.

Padmaavat (2018) isn’t historically inaccurate at all. Alaudin

Khlji played by Ranveer Singh wasn’t a savage but was indeed
a sophisticated ruler. Khilji Invaded Chittor in 1303 but it was
to acquire Padmaavat but was to expand territories of Khilji
74
Empire. A Jauhar was performed in 1303 infect but there is no
mention of a Queen named Padmaavati who practiced this
ritual in historical records.

Although Bhansali has given a disclaimer in the start that

Padmaavat (2018) shouldn’t be took as a Historical Depiction
but is merely a work of fiction but in several scenes he tries to
establish that what we are taught as history can’t always be
true.

There is particular scene in Padmaavat 2018 at about 42

minutes which is about the arrival of Alauddin Khilji in Delhi
after he murdered his Uncle for throne. In the scene
mentioned, Alauddin’s nephew comforts the new monarch
that History will never forgive him for the murder of his uncle.
In answer to this confrontation look towards Amir Khusro, a
13th century Poet, who suggests that in history this event will
be mentioned as need of the time. Khusro is known for
documentation of Alauddin’s era in his work and is considered
a primary source of the history of that time.

In Another scene of Bhansali’s Padmaavat at about 58 minute

Alauddin Khilji is seen tearing some papers and then burning
them when questioned he explains that these papers are
actually historical documents and he is burning them because
he didn’t liked the account narrated in them. He further
explains that some of these are written by Amir Khusro himself
but are not as per the requirements of Alauddin Khilji so he is
burning them.

From the scenes mentioned above it can be assumed that

Sanjay Leela Bhansali followed Miriam Makeba’s quote “The
conqueror writes history, they came, they conquered and they
write. You don't expect the people who came to invade us to
75
tell the truth about us.”. By this Bhansali intelligently conveyed
the message that the story of Rani Padmaavati cannot just be a
mere Myth but can infect be a historical event and Alauddin
Khilji indeed invaded Chittor in 1303 AD to acquire the
beautiful Padmaavati. The is no historical records present
about this legend because the history was written under the
supervision of Alauddin Khilji himself and he didn’t wanted
this incident to be mentioned in History.

Although Bhansali mentioned in the disclaimer of the film

that the story is work of fiction but people believe what they
are shown I the name of Historical fiction. The story of Saleem
Anarkali is Fictional but People still believe in this legend.
Akbar’s favorite wife and chief consort was Ruqaiya Sultan
Begum but people believed it to be Jodha Bai because this
was what they were shown in Ashutosh Gowariker’s Jodha
Akbar (2008) and later in Zee TV Serial of same name.

Propaganda theory can be applied here with portrayal of an

evil Muslim King Alauddin Khilji combating with the righteous
Rajput Hindu King Rawal Ratan Sen putting forward the
Propaganda that Muslim rulers of the past were evil and
savages who abused women. On contrary the Hindu Rajput
rulers were righteous and virtuous who respected woman.

Hypodermic needle theory or the Magic theory can be

applied here after all his is what Bhansali has done with the
audience. Agenda setting theory can be applied in this
scenario as well, with Bhansali setting the agenda by his film
that the story of the film can be true infect, it has been just
erased from the history written by conqueror Alauddin Khilji.

76
AWARDS & HOUNOURS
AWARDS & HOUNOURS

In 2015 Sanjay Leela Bhansali was awarded Padma Shri, the fourth
highest civilian award of India

National Film Awards.

2002 (50th) B e s t Po p u l a r F i l m P r o v i d i n g W h o l e s o m e
Entertainment Devdas

For its technical finesse and its modern reinterpretation of

an enduring classic.

2005 (53rd)Best Feature Film in Hindi Black

For a stylised and visually vibrant tale of a physically

challenged child who learns to live and become an achiever
against insurmountable odds.

2015 (63rd)National Film Award for Best Direction Bajirao

Mastani

For the masterful handling of all aspects of the medium of

cinema to weave a tragic love story within a grand historic
drama.

Film Fare Awards.

1997 Khamoshi: The Musical Critics Award for Best Film

2000 Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam Best Director Award & Best Film
Award
2003 Devdas Best Director Award & Best Film Award
2006 Black Best Director Award, Best Film Award & Critics
Award for Best Film

77
International Indian Film Academy (IIFA) Awards

2000: IIFA Best Director Award – Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam

2000: IIFA Best Movie Award – Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam
2000: IIFA Best Screenplay – Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (Shared
with Kenneth Phillips)
2000: IIFA Best Story – Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (Shared with
Pratap Karvat)
2003: IIFA Best Director Award – Devdas
2006: IIFA Best Director Award – Black
2006: IIFA Best Movie Award – Black
2016: IIFA Best Director Award – Bajirao Mastani

Zee Cine Awards

2000: Zee Cine Best Director Award – Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam
2000: Zee Cine Best Film Award – Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam
2000: Zee Cine Best Story Award – Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam
(shared with Prakash Karwat)
2005: Zee Cine Best Director Award – Black
2005: Zee Cine Best Film Award – Black
2015: Zee Cine Best Director Award -Bajirao Mastani

78
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