Let’s be honest. We all love to witness a noisy, bitter quarrel on Twitter (or X, or whatever it might be called before this piece is published!). Of course, it is fun only when we aren’t the ones getting beaten up. It allows us to self-appoint ourselves as a credible jury and share our two cents. The more controversial our cents are, the more RTs and followers we are going to gather. Which can never be such a bad thing.
The last two weeks on Twitter saw one such row since the online release of the second season of the popular series Made in Heaven.
The afterlife of a controversy
The series, created by Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti, wasn’t by itself very controversial. It, in fact, looked like a bunch of harmless moral science lessons with finely curated human diversity. And it captured most of the usual Bollywood problems with an additional dose of issues inspired by social media memes and reels. So, we had stories involving a fair-complexioned woman treated as if she was dark-skinned, a pregnant woman marrying herself, potential in-laws eloping with each other, an Iyer woman asserting her caste surname and the like.
Well, it is after all Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti’s fantasy world, where we, as audience, aspire to give up our middle-class issues and embrace rich people’s problems. Because it is any day better to feel unloved in a big empty mansion than in a crowded 2-BHK (where one of the toilets is still Indian).
Out of all the episodes, the one directed by Neeraj Ghaywan got the most attention and appreciation for sensitively narrating the story of a Dalit woman’s wedding with her upper caste fiancé. Particularly, for her assertion in having a Buddhist wedding. Though Twitter did wonder why it was interchangeably called a ‘Dalit wedding’. Because what is a ‘Dalit wedding’ anyway? But then again, we should be thankful that the filmmakers refrained from using the prefix for the couple’s first night or honeymoon.
In the portrayal of the Dalit woman’s character Pallavi Menke, several people saw a close resemblance to writer and Sahitya Akademi Yuva Puraskar award winner Yashica Dutt. In fact, filmmaker Neeraj Ghaywan had already thanked several individuals and their work as inspirations for the episode on his Instagram handle – including Yashica Dutt and her book Coming out as Dalit, for popularising the term ‘coming out’.
Very soon, Dutt released a statement, arguing that since the episode was drawn from her life and work, it required formal credit within the series. However, the filmmakers Zoya Akhtar, Reema Kagti, Alankrita Shrivastava and Neeraj Ghaywan categorically dismissed Dutt’s claim and stated the story was purely fictitious, and that ‘coming out’ was a 1950s academic LGBTQIA term that was first used by Sumit Baudh in the Indian caste identity context in 2007.
Who came out first?
Sumit Baudh’s essay ‘Reflections of a Queer Dalit’ was published In Plainspeak, where he uses the term ‘coming out’ in a context similar to Dutt’s. And the essay has been cited earlier by other academic writers too. However, Baudh’s essay hasn’t been publicly available and not as popular as Dutt’s book or interviews. Dutt acknowledges that she herself wasn’t aware of the essay until the Made in Heaven issue exploded on social media.
Thanks to Twitter, it was law academic Saptarshi Mandal who first mentioned Baudh’s essay in relation to the Made in Heaven episode on the platform.
So, it was quite surprising when the filmmakers claimed – two days after Mandal’s post – that they too have taken inspiration from Baudh’s essay. Particularly when people who have actively engaged with anti-caste literature themselves seem to have missed the essay. Add to this the fact that filmmakers Zoya Akhtar, Reema Kagti and Alankrita Shrivastava had acknowledged in an interview that they had to take a one-day crash course on caste from fellow filmmaker Neeraj Ghaywan to understand his experiences.
However, Ghaywan’s clarification in the interview comes across as very earnest. He elaborates how he grappled with his own vulnerability and put several of his experiences with caste into the episode. And stated how the Menke character was actually inspired from his own life. His heartfelt clarification could immediately resonate with anyone from the Dalit community.
So on one hand, it does appear that the filmmakers weren’t aware of Sumit Baudh’s essay until Twitter users brought it out. But on the other hand, Ghaywan’s courage and sincerity in narrating his life experiences through the character of Pallavi Menke cannot be brushed aside. It is by drawing from his personal experiences that the filmmaker has been able to bring Menke’s character alive.
Multiple stakeholders, maximum chaos
All these incidents and claims have led to conflicting perspectives where one identity has been pitched against another.
One opinion looks at it as a battle for credit between Yashica Dutt and the filmmakers of Made in Heaven. Where the Savarna filmmakers are hiding behind Neeraj Ghaywan to appropriate the work of a writer from the Dalit community.
Another view interprets it as a conflict between Yashica Dutt and Neeraj Ghaywan, where a male filmmaker from the Dalit community has taken away something created by the female writer from the same community.
The third point of view narrows it down as a dispute between Dutt and Baudh – a Dalit woman and a queer Dalit man. If the credit should rightfully belong to Baudh for using the term a decade before Dutt. Or to Dutt for popularising it, through her book and multiple online and offline interviews.
Interestingly, there is a fourth point of view too. A significant section of Ambedkarites are disappointed with all three individual stakeholders from the Dalit community. Their criticism is on the usage of the term ‘coming out’ – be it Baudh’s essay, Dutt’s book or Ghaywan’s film. They argue that the term borrowed from the LGBTQ movement doesn’t fit well to capture the experiences of Dalits.
No ‘coming out’ as caste is determined
Unlike sexuality that is tied to only an individual, caste binds one across multiple generations, family members, relatives and even one’s geographical location. While sexuality can be hidden by an individual from their own family members, caste cannot be. In fact, caste locates one to a specific cheri (street or locality) that is publicly known to everyone in the village or town. Even if we assume that there is a small section of Dalits who have moved away from their native geographical location and moved up the educational and economic ladder, their caste location can still be easily traced. At best, one can hide their caste for a reasonable period from a specific group of people.
In fact, even before one is born in Indian society, their caste is already determined. But sexuality is something that one explores and discovers as they grow older. Therefore, this section of Ambedkarites argue that, in the case of caste, there is actually no ‘coming out’ that is similar to one’s sexuality. And they critique the ‘coming out’ narrative for distorting the experience of Dalits.
The ownership of anti-caste thought
However, all this criticism cannot take away the courage and earnestness with which Yashica Dutt has narrated her story. So is the importance of Sumit Baudh’s experience and articulation in his essay. But the ownership of who created which narrative can continue to be a slippery slope. This might not be an easy legal battle to win primarily because of how anti-caste works have been produced.
Traditionally, anti-caste thought has remained a collective Bahujan knowledge production. Ambedkarite and Periyarist ideologies have been taken forward by countless writers and publishers. The writing and publishing of these several unknown or lesser-known individuals has remained a voluntary political activity, whose sole objective has been to spread anti-caste thought.
To cite a recent example, the online Ambedkarite platform Round Table India has played an important role in bringing together several Bahujan voices and furthering anti-caste conversations. However, the platform’s editors Naren Bedide and Anu Ramdas only work as volunteers like the several hundred writers who contribute their anti-caste articulation to it. This allows for the knowledge production to remain collective, democratic and uncommercialised.
This collective ownership was possible primarily because anti-caste knowledge production has so far remained with politicised Bahujans. But in recent times, the death of Rohith Vemula has witnessed the opening up of a new market for anti-caste writing in both academia and mainstream media. Caste-related violence, which was hardly covered earlier, has now been able to gain extraordinary attention.
A similar phenomenon can be seen in the field of cinema too, post the arrival of Pa Ranjith’s films. The commercial success of his anti-caste movies has opened an untapped market potential and all leading filmmakers are now in a rush to have a piece of the pie.
This new market demand has brought in several Savarna players and twisted the very nature of anti-caste knowledge production. What was until now owned collectively and uncommercialised is now at the risk of extreme commercialisation. And whether we like it or not, this trend is going to ferociously continue until the market is tired of anti-caste thought or done commoditising it.
In such a situation, we cannot look at this conflict between Yashica Dutt, Sumit Baudh and Made in Heaven filmmakers in isolation. This is in fact only the beginning of what we are going to witness in the coming years. Going forward, this scramble for who wrote what first can only deepen further. Making it easy for the mainstream market to easily commoditise anti-caste thought.
Storyteller’s license
Another dimension to this issue is related to the nature of storytelling.
All storytelling is derivative and borrowed from real life and people. There is no doubt that the character of Pallavi Menke reminded everyone of Yashica Dutt. But Menke’s story within the episode is vastly different from Dutt’s life. Even if Neeraj Ghaywan did create a fictional character who is ‘someone like’ like Yashica Dutt, we need to explore if that warrants formal attribution.
In Mari Selvaraj’s recent film Maamannan (2023), his protagonist is an MLA from Kasipuram – a reserved constituency – who eventually becomes the speaker of Tamil Nadu state assembly. When the film was released, the audience and critics could clearly see that the character Maamannan was based on P Dhanapal, incumbent AIADMK MLA and former speaker. This inference was easy because in the last 50 years, Dhanapal remains the only MLA from a reserved constituency to hold the post of speaker. Furthermore, Selvaraj had deliberately renamed Dhanapal’s earlier constituency of Rasipuram as Kasipuram in the film.
But beyond these skeletal details, the story of Maamannan remains significantly different. In fact, Maamannan is hinted as a member of a party that is equivalent to the DMK within the film. And the film itself has been produced by actor and DMK minister Udhayanidhi Stalin.
Technically, it might be tempting to dismiss Selvaraj’s retelling of P Dhanapal’s story on ethical grounds. He has, of course, taken some of the key attributes of an AIADMK MLA and reweaved it as a DMK MLA’s story in his film.
But surprisingly, the audience and critics didn’t seem to be bothered by these resemblances. While they could clearly see the inspiration, they still chose to see the film for what Selvaraj had to narrate. At the same time, several YouTube channels interviewed P Dhanapal, who claimed the film to be based on his life. Interestingly, Thol Thirumavalavan, VCK president and Member of Parliament, too claimed that the vote counting scene in the film reminded him of an incident from his own political life.
While Mari Selvaraj acknowledged that the film is rooted in reality, he did not attribute the film or its characters to any real-life politician.
A similar example is Mani Ratnam’s 1997 film Iruvar, which was based on the life of two chief ministers from Tamilnadu – Kalaignar M Karunanidhi and MG Ramachandran. The film was particularly very critical of Kalaignar’s political and personal life. And before the release, a special screening was arranged for him by the filmmakers. But the DMK leader chose to not respond to the film’s criticism and it went on to become a box-office failure.
It is interesting how Karunanidhi and Dhanapal responded to the films inspired by their respective lives. While both films don’t officially attribute to real-life individuals, P Dhanapal claimed ownership of the film’s story because of its flattering portrayal. On the other hand, Kalaignar M Karunanidhi chose to ignore the film that was harshly critical of him.
That makes one wonder about the situation we have at hand.
Had Made in Heaven not portrayed the character of Pallavi Menke in a flattering light, would writers Dutt or Baudh have associated themselves in the current debate on attribution? In that case, it is quite probable that they might have either ignored the series or sued the filmmakers for defamation.
Complicated future
As one might realise, there aren’t any easy answers in this case. The collective nature of Bahujan anti-caste knowledge production and the exploding market attention it has gained in the last few years, coupled with the freedom of storytellers to borrow from real life, has severely complicated the road ahead.
The best we could hope for is that a series of similar conflicts and discussions could give us the opportunity to come up with a reliable framework, where a balance between individual contribution, collective knowledge production and their commercial use could at least be achieved to a reasonable degree.
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