Read/See Between The Lines

Later, when Veeru prods Jai to meet Basanti바카라�s aunt to talk about marriage, he jeopardises Veeru바카라�s chance by calling바카라�and yet not calling바카라�him a gambler, a drunkard, and a womaniser. (Was that a friend looking out for another friend바카라�ensuring that he doesn바카라�t marry in haste바카라�or a jealous partner guarding his turf?) In the climax, Jai literally dies in Veeru바카라�s arms, as the sad strain of the same song, with different lyrics, recurs: 바카라�Aage tu nikal gaya/ Saathi tu badal gaya/ Todi dosti.바카라� Only death could바카라�and did바카라�do them part.

Over the last few years, after the Supreme Court decriminalised homosexuality in 2018, many Hindi films and web series have featured LGBTQIA+ characters, where their sexual orientations don바카라�t call attention to themselves and, instead, just exist as textured realities. Some dramas, such as Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Aisa Laga (2019) and Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020), devote their entire plots to same-sex romances. Made in Heaven (2023) had a transwoman, Trinetra Gummaraju, playing a transwoman character. Aligarh (2016) had a star, Manoj Bajpai, playing a homosexual protagonist. This increased representation, though, also runs the risk of positing a simplistic binary between the old and new Bollywood: now, progressive, then, regressive; now, visible, then, invisible; now, empathetic, then, pathetic. But what if these demarcations are not wholly true? What if Bollywood had conned us all these years, and we didn바카라�t even know? What if queerness in old Bollywood hid in plain sight?

Before that, an obvious question: Why read queerness in films where none exists? After all, the makers of Sholay (1975) don바카라�t call their characters gay. 바카라�Never trust the teller,바카라� wrote D H Lawrence, 바카라�trust the tale.바카라� Besides, for an industry historically sheepish to depict even heterosexual desires, it won바카라�t, well, play straight when it comes to homosexuality. Same-sex romance was also considered a taboo for a very long time (it still is for many), so for a subject whose textbook doesn바카라�t exist, we바카라�ve no option but to read between the lines.

But more importantly, just because we don바카라�t know about a world doesn바카라�t mean it ceases to exist. 바카라�[Yeh Dosti] has become a gay diasporic male anthem,바카라� writes Gayatri Gopinath in Impossible Desires (2005), 바카라�sung at pride parades from New York to London to San Francisco.바카라� The song ends with Veeru perched on Jai바카라�s shoulders, as if making the line 바카라�we바카라�re not two but one바카라� literal. It바카라�s very similar to a sombre drama, Dosti (1964), where two male friends바카라�one can바카라�t walk, the other can바카라�t see바카라�complete each other. Their debilitating bodies make their bond much more physical: Mohan (Sudhir Sawant), who is blind, has to literally touch Ramu (Sushil Somaya) to feel his presence, to 바카라�see바카라� him. 바카라�Do you not have anyone else?바카라� Mohan asks him in their first meeting, when he finds out that Ramu, too, sleeps on the pavement. He replies no. 바카라�I바카라�m also alone,바카라� says Mohan. 바카라�God has made us meet well바카라�we바카라�ll be together.바카라�

Mohan keeps his hand on Ramu바카라�s shoulder, while walking. Ramu plays the harmonica (just like Jai), while Mohan sings. The passersby flock to them and give them money. With their lives entwined in practically every way possible, they first experience anxiety at the thought of separation. 바카라�Once you find your sister,바카라� says Ramu, 바카라�you바카라�ll leave me and go with her.바카라� Mohan smiles: 바카라�Why will I? I바카라�ll never leave you.바카라� A visibly moved Ramu looks at Mohan, holds his hands, and says, 바카라�I can바카라�t leave you as well.바카라�

Even though the movie is called Dosti, something else is going on in this scene바카라�and in many Bollywood films with homoerotic undertones바카라�which can be best encapsulated in a word unique to the South Asian context, a word that hides more than it shows, a word that flows like water dignifying fluid relationships: yaari. 바카라�Its etymology lends it an illicit character, as the Sanskrit jaara initially denoted an adulterous lover,바카라� writes Oliver Ross in Same-Sex Desire in Indian Culture (2015). In Urdu poetry of the 18th and 19th centuries, he adds, yaar 바카라�described men and women바카라�s male and female beloveds바카라�. With no direct equivalent in English바카라�friend, buddy, chum, mate, sport, pal, all fall short바카라�바카라�the term blurs the distinction between friend and lover바카라�.

If Sholay and Dosti indulge in effusive affectionate expressions by their male leads, then Anand (1971) is much more muted. It also demarcates its protagonists, producing conventional gendered binaries: introvert and extrovert, angry and jovial, reticent and vulnerable. When Anand (Rajesh Khanna) shows up at Bhaskar바카라�s (Bachchan) house to live with him, as he finds the nursing home dreary, he says this (which sounds very similar to a dialogue from Dosti): 바카라�Aye Babu Moshai, you don바카라�t have anyone and so do I. Till the time I live, let me live with you.바카라� It바카라�s the first time in the movie that the ice-cold Bhaskar melts.

It can be even argued that it바카라�s Bhaskar in Anand, and not Vijay in Zanjeer (1973), who should be called the first Angry Young Man. Just look at the doctor in the first few minutes. He goes to a slum to treat a patient, but the abject living conditions바카라�the 바카라�dukh, dard바카라� and 바카라�bimaari바카라�바카라�fills him with rage. His voiceover plays in the background: 바카라�I could have treated diseases, but how could I fight hunger?바카라� 바카라�I had been thrust into a war for which I had no weapons.바카라� When Anand meets him for the first time, he senses Bhaskar바카라�s anger and 바카라�diagnoses바카라� him with pitch-perfect precision: 바카라�You바카라�re not angry at me. You바카라�re angry at yourself that you can바카라�t treat me.바카라� He then adds: 바카라�Aye Babu Moshai, so much love is also not good.바카라�

Even more than Sholay, Anand바카라�s plot, climax, and resolution hinge on a crucial detail: death. Given that it바카라�s such an integral part of life, Bollywood screenwriters have used it to interrupt 바카라�alternate바카라� narratives, wielding it as a tool to placate the audiences, uphold the status quo, and resurrect the heterosexual haven. Jai바카라�s death in Sholay, for instance, works both ways: It stops his marriage from a widow (a taboo in the 바카라�70s) and kills any possibility of a union with Veeru, the ultimate impediment, even more than Gabbar, to a happy climax.

Death interrupts another dosti in Silsila (1981). Amit (Bachchan) and Shekhar (Shashi Kapoor) may call each other 바카라�bhai바카라�, but their closeness transcends most male bonds. 바카라�We first smoked together, then drank together, then fell in love바카라�with the same woman,바카라� Amit tells Shekhar바카라�s fiancé, Shobha (Jaya Bachchan). 바카라�Before that, we used to bathe naked together.바카라� Around 17 minutes later, the two are in the shower, naked. Shekhar throws a bar of soap on the ground: 바카라�Amit, pick it up.바카라� Amit begins to bend, stands up again, and says, 바카라�Aye bhai, I바카라�m not picking up any soap.바카라� They both laugh, recognising the true meanings of the exchange. They바카라�re so inseparable that Silsila can only find its heterosexual steam after Shekhar바카라�s death.

Two decades later, another film triangulated male bonding, homoerotic humour, and death: Kal Ho Naa Ho (2003). Made a decade after economic liberalisation바카라�which had spawned concerns about the erosion of 바카라�Indian values바카라�바카라�this drama, like many Bollywood romances, is a love triangle. Aman (Shah Rukh Khan) loves Naina; Naina (Preity Zinta) loves Aman; Rohit (Saif Ali Khan) loves Naina. But Aman, who is about to die from a heart disease, seeks to unite Naina and Rohit instead. Ostensibly a heterosexual love story, Kal Ho Naa Ho acquires charged meanings when seen through a queer lens.

Take Aman바카라�s first scene, which foreshadows his (probable) sexual fluidity: He바카라�s on a boat, quite literally on water, floating between two pieces of land. He loves Naina, but his sacrifice comforts Rohit the most바카라�a sacrifice so huge it can only approximate love. When he바카라�s about to die, his last conversation is not with Naina but with Rohit, where he closes his eyes and holds Rohit바카라�s hand. Twenty years later, when Naina remembers Aman while talking to her adopted sister, she says, 바카라�I can never forget him.바카라� Rohit comes from behind and says, 바카라�We. We can never forget him.바카라�

Besides, it바카라�s quite evident that, despite claiming to love Naina, Rohit, like many men, craves the validation of other men (Aman is, in fact, a literal concatenation of A-Man). As Rohit 바카라�learns바카라� to neg and net Naina, his maid, Kanta-ben (Sulabha Arya), sees the two men in close proximity several times, thinking they are a couple. It바카라�s made many call the movie homophobic. But is it that simple? Because when we laugh at Kanta-ben, who are we laughing at: Are we mocking her incredulous reaction (in that case, we seem to be laughing at her homophobia)? Or are we laughing at the impossibility of two Bollywood stars being gay (which is a joke on the industry바카라�s insularity)? Or are we laughing at gay romance itself바카라�or is it a mix of all three? Even though the movie equates heterosexual love to 바카라�normal바카라�바카라�in a conversation at a strip club between Rohit and his father바카라�the Kuch Toh Hua Hai song, depicting love in all shades, shows two American men kiss and hug near a phone booth.

It바카라�s casual sexism, in fact, that바카라�s much more prevalent here than homophobia. In several scenes, Rohit and Aman salivate over women바카라�s legs, indulge in 바카라�bro banter바카라�, and treat Naina like an object in a game of passing the parcel. And it바카라�s this sexism that finds its most natural culmination바카라�its most apt release바카라�in their homoerotic humour. Three decades after Sholay (1975), where dosti and yaari commingled, the anxieties about homosexuality in Bollywood donned self-aware humour, post-economic liberalisation (present in several films of the decade, such as, besides Kal Ho Naa Ho, Masti (2004) and Dostana (2008)). This self-defence tactic, then, seemed to be responding to the fears of 바카라�cultural colonialism바카라�바카라�as many considered homosexuality a 바카라�Western바카라� construct바카라�and, thus, tried hard to mitigate its 바카라�dangers바카라�. 바카라�The suggestion that desi masculinity is more feminine or lacking harkens back to the era of British colonialism,바카라� writes Dinah Holtzman in a 2010 paper, 바카라�when native 바카라�effeminacy바카라� was cited as justification for British 바카라�paternalism바카라� and the 바카라�civilizing mission.바카라�바카라�

Bollywood directors have also used another device to explore homoerotic tension: songs. A style unique to Indian cinema, they바카라�re inherently melodramatic, opening up possibilities, conjuring up dream-like worlds subverting regular rules. 바카라�Since songs allow things to be said that cannot be said elsewhere,바카라� writes Gopinath, 바카라�it바카라�s not surprising that often in these moments of fantasy that queer, non-heteronormative desires emerge.바카라� Sometimes, their lyricism바카라�eliding direct gendered references바카라�further opens them up to multiple interpretations. (Main Hoon Na바카라�s title track is a classic example, which can be read as either romantic or familial, where the genders of the singer and the listener are as subjective.)

In some Bollywood dramas, only isolated songs had homoerotic strains, not the whole movie. But in some, like Main Khiladi Tu Anari (1994), both are present. It바카라�s most evident in the title song itself. Centred on a naive romantic actor (Saif Ali Khan) tailing a tough cop (Akshay Kumar) to research a realistic role (as he바카라�s impressed by his 바카라�macho바카라� style), this drama resembles a typical 바카라�buddy바카라� film. Set in a dimly lit bar, the number drops around the three-fourth mark where, amid countless female dancers and lyrics underscoring the heroes바카라� fixation on women, the actors바카라� bodies tell a different story. Their chests, not more than a few inches apart, undulate like waves; their synchronised pelvic thrusts, present throughout the song, chart a three-act structure; and their heads jerk towards each other in a motion so oscillatory and feverish that kissing seems like a fundamental right. 바카라�They literally can바카라�t keep their hands off each other,바카라� writes Thomas Waugh in his 2001 research paper. 바카라�Akshay puts his tie on Saif, slaps his ass, even seems to touch his groin.바카라� And academics weren바카라�t the only ones noticing a film-within-a-film. 바카라�Bombay Dost [India바카라�s first English gay magazine] interviewed Akshay Kumar and got him to acknowledge and welcome his gay fans,바카라� adds Waugh, 바카라�but this discourse made Saif so upset that he punched out the gay critic [Ashok Row Kavi] who spoke the unspoken.바카라�

Songs have also helped foreground the same-sex desires of women which, unlike men, are fewer in number (not surprising given Bollywood바카라�s obsession with male stars). But consider Khwab Ban Kar Koi Ayega from the period drama Razia Sultan (1983), featuring the eponymous princess (Hema Malini) and her confidant, Khatun (Parveen Babi), on a boat. At first, nothing about it stands out바카라�Razia lies on the bed dreaming about her lover (Dharmendra)바카라�but soon, Khatun inches close to her, caressing her hair, arm, and body. Razia responds, moving ever so slowly, till their faces almost touch each other, and then, a giant feather hides them both.

Khwab Ban Ke doesn바카라�t end there (leaving our imaginations to fill in the blanks), for Razia Sultan kisses and tells: It cuts to a reaction shot, where a young boatwoman giggles and covers her mouth. This song has several striking facets. First: its impressive audacity in almost showing a kiss between two actresses at a time when even regular lip locks were indicated via two flowers canoodling. Second: it referencing a kiss from Mughal-e-Azam (1960)바카라�one of the most iconic cis-het romances ever, co-written by Kamal Amrohi, Razia Sultan바카라�s director바카라�where Salim (Dilip Kumar) hides his face with a giant feather as he kisses Anarkali (Madhubala). Third: it showcases the same-sex desires between women without labelling either of them 바카라�lesbians바카라�, thereby making a 바카라�saheli바카라� as complex as a 바카라�yaar바카라�.

Sometimes a song creates its own language, subverting the film바카라�s style. Take Didi Tera Devar Deewana from Hum Aapke Hain Koun (1994), where insults, innuendos, and desires바카라�all sexual in nature바카라�come to the fore in a 바카라�sanskari바카라� movie. Celebrating the pregnancy of her sister (Renuka Shahane) in a large hall, where only women are present, the heroine, Nisha (Madhuri Dixit), takes relentless digs at the hero, Prem (Salman Khan), played by a woman, Rita, dressed like him. Nisha calls him a lecherous lout: 바카라�He바카라� runs his hands on her back, puts a stethoscope on her breast, and sleeps with her. The song allows Nisha to switch identities바카라�she plays both herself and her sister, flirting with Prem바카라�reminiscent of many Bollywood numbers taking striking liberties through suggestive lyrics, cross dressing, and elaborate fantasies.

If such desires materialise like a drop in Choli Ke Peeche Kya Hai (which, performed for male audiences both on and off the screen, actually unfolds as an erotic banter between two women), then they flow like a waterfall in Phalguni Pathak바카라�s music videos, the vintage queer icon of the 바카라�90s. Her song, Meri Chunar Udd Udd Jaye, features a young girl (Ayesha Takia) remembering and pining for her partner (Pathak), ignoring a man interested in her. It ends with him literally walking in on her secret바카라�her dancing with a woman from a framed painting in a room바카라�and as she shuts the door behind them, she puts her finger on her lips, suggesting that he protect her secret. It reminds you of the relationship between Bollywood filmmakers and their audiences over the last few decades. For an industry that바카라�s often called brain-dead and regressive, its elaborate game of (queer) hide and seek seems to take a cue from a line in Prestige (2006) by Christopher Nolan (considered the most cerebral director): 바카라�Are you watching closely?바카라�

(This appeared in the print as 'Read/See Between The Lines')