In Today's Queer Stories, Rituporno Ghosh Seems To Be Present Even Through His Absence

The inability to listen and observe바카라�and internalise and empathise바카라�marks many Indian movies on marginalised characters and themes. The counterparts of 바카라�white saviours바카라� are less interested in talking, and more obsessed with talking down, to their audiences. But Chitrangada is different바카라�because Ghosh was different. Over 19 films spanning two decades, he first untangled his audiences, then untangled himself. In the first phase of his career dominated by elite domestic dramas바카라�such as Unishe April (1994), Bariwali (1999) and Utsab (2000)바카라�he wooed the Bhadralok audiences, fed up with brain-dead kitsch, back to the theatres. He broadened his ambition in the aughts, casting Bollywood stars in Chokher Bali (2003), Raincoat (2003) and The Last Lear (2007). And in his last few years, he turned the lens on himself, both as a filmmaker and as an actor, directing and appearing in movies that probed the confusion of same-sex desire, the tyranny of propriety and the prison of identities바카라�a swansong doubling up as both filmmaking and homecoming.

Based on Rabindranath Tagore바카라�s play, Chitrangada, which adapted the story of a character from the Mahabharata called Chitrangada바카라�a woman raised as a man, conflicted about her identity, smitten with Arjuna바카라�Ghosh바카라�s version gives it a modern mould. Centred on Rudra, staging the play, and his drug addict boyfriend, Partho (Jisshu Sengupta), it is in essence a romance of outcasts: a transgender artist falling for a broke wastrel. But their relationship hits a dead-end when they decide to become parents. Since the law forbids same-sex couples to adopt a child, Rudra opts for a sex change operation. But Partho, mocking the idea of a 바카라�synthetic바카라� partner, breaks up with Rudra.

Even though Chitrangada isn바카라�t the kind of movie that is often made in Bengali바카라�or Indian바카라�cinema, Ghosh treats it like any other story. The film, for instance, doesn바카라�t resort to needless melodrama just because its subject is 바카라�different바카라�. While portraying characters on the margins, many writers and directors either demonise or deify them바카라�reducing them to types, diluting their complexities바카라�but Ghosh does neither. He observes, absorbs, recedes, taking us on a journey, nudging us to tread between the lines.

If this is a film about a person in transition, then its telling, vacillating from questioning others to questioning oneself, reflects that multi-tiered tension. A tension unfolding as a meta, literary and autobiographical inquiry. Ghosh achieves this through a fascinating narrative frame바카라�hinged on a series of conversations between Rudra and his counsellor, Shubho (Anjan Dutt)바카라�that pops multi-faceted discussions on despair and desire, confusion and exasperation, society and self. Rudra endures rejections, from both his father and partner, ending up irrevocably alone. And in the climax, we find out that even Shubho, with whom he shared moments of quasi-intimacy, doesn바카라�t exist. Spurned by all, Rudra has taken refuge in the ultimate narcissism: falling in love with his own self.

The movie seems to be aware of this self-reflexive tilt. Take an early scene where Rudra explains the play바카라�s story to Shubho. He asks, 바카라�Isn바카라�t it a bit autobiographical?바카라� It바카라�s not too far-fetched to see Chitrangada as an example of a filmmaker withdrawing inwards바카라�framing elaborate conversations with himself바카라�in the context of Ghosh바카라�s relationship with his audiences. Because once a celebrated director, his cultural currency took a massive hit in his final few years when his once champions, the Bhadralok patrons, turned their backs on him바카라�disapproving of his cross-dressing and queer cinema바카라�calling him 바카라�Rituporno바카라�.

His directorial detour merits attention even for those who are critical of his filmmaking, such as Moinak Biswas, professor of film studies at Jadavpur University. Moving from being a 바카라�pioneer of a genre of Bengali movies,바카라� says Biswas, 바카라�that exclusively addressed the gated community of the urban upper-middle-class audience바카라�바카라�emerging from post-economic liberalisation바카라�Ghosh바카라�s 바카라�Chitrangada moved into a domain where the circle is drawn around 바카라�I바카라�, which has some disruptive potential.바카라�

The film also invites other interpretations. The most obvious is literary. Ghosh was fascinated by Tagore바카라�adapting his stories, incorporating his poems, making a documentary on him바카라�but in Chitrangada, according to professor Daisy Hasan, he uses the fabled dance-drama to unleash 바카라�greater queer possibilities바카라�. It바카라�s also charged by surreal storytelling, melding past, present, future; dreams, alter-ego, realities. Which compels us to consider an aesthetic and political question: In a world that doesn바카라�t recognise queer relationships as 바카라�real바카라�, how else would their cinematic counterparts look like?

Sometimes the implications are simpler but no less significant. 바카라�Given that the roots of the story lay in the Hindu epics,바카라� adds Hasan, 바카라�the film can also be read as an attempt to critique the Hindu Right바카라�s appropriation of mythological texts.바카라� Sometimes the autobiographical and literary collide, resurfacing first as self-doubt (when Rudra calls his stage adaptation a 바카라�glossy spectacle바카라� lacking 바카라�soul바카라� because he does 바카라�not know Chitrangada well enough바카라�) and later as self-discovery (when Rudra, content with an indeterminate state, refuses the sex reassignment operation).

Helped by the celebrity status of its filmmaker, Chitrangada brought queer desires into our theatres and homes. Besides his directorial felicity, Ghosh바카라�s confidence and control as an actor are equally striking. In Arekti Premer Golpo (2010)and Memories in March (2010)바카라�directed by Kaushik Ganguly and Sanjoy Nag바카라�he continued to dignify topics considered taboo. In the former, he plays a transgender filmmaker making a documentary on a real-life female impersonator in Bengali theatre, Chapal Bhaduri, and in the latter, he forges a warm bond with his deceased boyfriend바카라�s mother. These roles illustrate Ghosh바카라�s wide range as an actor: his easy relationship with humour, his understated portrayal of a sombre character, his ability to perform via dialogues and mannerisms.

But his critics also accuse him of elitism, saying his films바카라�confined to privileged cocoons and reinforcing the class divide바카라�gloss over the local subcultures of the hijra and kothi communities. Even though equating absence to omission can be a simplistic reading of cinema, these criticisms arise from legitimate concerns. Would Ghosh have course-corrected, adding a new dimension to his oeuvre? We바카라�ll never know, because he died a year after Chitrangada바카라�s release. He didn바카라�t live long enough to see the changing contours of LGBTQ rights and activism either. Most Indian directors don바카라�t create personal art, and even fewer create the kind of cinema powered by a singular ferocity and vision like Ghosh바카라�s. So it바카라�s not tough to believe that he may have felt like an island in the final phase of his career. The last decade, however, has seen a distinct increase in the number of films and film festivals foregrounding queer stories, where Ghosh always seems to be present even through his absence. In that changing world, we can only ponder the extent of his contributions. So, yes, he was an island바카라�but one surrounded by a bracing sea, a sea of possibilities.

(This appeared in the print as 'Unleashing Queer Possibilities')