Ruchira dwells with Arati Kadav’s “Mrs.” ignites debate, depicting a woman’s stifled life in a traditional household, resonating with many and sparking controversy, exclusively for Different Truths.

Since it went on air via a prominent television channel a few weeks ago, director Arati Kadav’s latest oeuvre, Mrs., has created a sensation in both the entertainment world and the public psyche. The film has managed to ruffle a few feathers, particularly among traditional in-laws. The stereotyped bahus on their part appear to be feeling vindicated since the film champions their cause.

Richa, a trained dancer who harbours many dreams and aspirations, is married off into a household that imposes traditional gender roles on her with scant regard for her individuality. This is done subtly—through perpetual dismissal of her needs and downgrading of her desires. Though she slogs hard from dawn to dusk, what she gets in return is a volley of wisecracks and advice, but little or no appreciation.

This gradual blotting out of her persona slowly begins to take a heavy toll on her mental and emotional health. Not surprising since millions of women experience this kind of abuse, day in and day out, with no one noticing or questioning it. The salient feature of Mrs. is showing how a woman’s spirit is trampled upon by constant pressure and emotional neglect. Also, the absence of physical abuse doesn’t imply the absence of suffering.

While watching the film, I was taken aback when the Pater familias (Dr Kumar played by Kanwaljeet) was adamant about having his chutney ground on sil-batta instead of a food processor, and also how the dutiful son kept clamouring for piping hot phulkas for Dad and himself. As if normal rotis were not edible.

Equally shocking was to note how, despite all his polite behaviour and good manners, the gynaecologist husband (played by Nishant Dahiya) treats the wife like a sex object. Every night he demands his pound of flesh (read sex), paying scant regard to whether the wife had any problem or was in the right mood. As if this were not enough, the husband monitors her periods and almost plans her pregnancies without letting her utter even a single word on the topic.

It was highly exasperating to witness how Richa’s mother-in-law (Aparna Ghoshal) is utterly indifferent to the young lady’s woes. Despite being “highly educated,” she appears at ease in obeying the men’s will demurely.

The finale of the movie, which serves as its climax, is highly melodramatic, but it’s entirely fitting. After all, what can one expect from a harangued housewife overwhelmed by whimsical demands while semi-drunken men lounge around without offering any help? The leaking kitchen sink has been a long-standing issue, symbolising her gross neglect, and her requests for a plumber have gone unheard.

As Richa seethes silently, she fills the guests’ glasses with filthy water from the sink and then dumps the bucket of water over her bewildered husband before stomping out of the house—never to return. This is the last straw that broke the camel’s back!

Now here is a candid confession: the film in question has rankled my feelings in a way few films have ever done before. Believe it or not, dear readers, I was astounded to discover how the protagonist Richa’s story and the situation prevailing in her ‘sasural’ were uncanny, like mine. My late father-in-law (PBUH) had been an anaesthetist with the Indian Railways. He was a devoted follower, a high priest of the centuries-old ideal “Pati Param Guru” (husband is the supreme lord and master). Hence the husband’s thoughts or words were gospel truth. Inviolable. Anytime I was found arguing with or disobeying my spouse, I was chastised.

From day one, I was tasked with polishing the men’s boots (my spouse’s and his father’s) daily for several years. However, not quite satisfied with the outcome, I was finally relieved of my duties.

Like in the movie, Papa was a diehard advocate of tawa roti and ghar ka khana vis-à-vis tandoori/dhaba roti, besides curries, dishes from eateries, and so forth. Quite naturally, the female members who handled the cooking had to go the extra mile to keep him satisfied. After my wedding, I was liberal with wearing perfumes (my passion), but within a few months, I was forbidden to use any by a curt, crisp verbal decree.

Wearing a nightie beyond the bed chamber too was strictly prohibited! Incidentally, I was halfway through a diploma course in French when I got married. The two men skillfully persuaded me—using both coaxing and pressure—to quit without submitting my papers! After all, family comes first!

I owe a debt of gratitude to my father-in-law for “allowing” me to pursue a full-time job in the media. Everyone knows the working hours for journalists are highly erratic. But the gentleman didn’t seem to mind. So, I didn’t experience the same degree of agony (read claustrophobia) as Mrs. Richa. That was the proverbial silver lining in the dark clouds.

Let me clarify for all the men who might be reading this: Please understand that there are no insinuations or negative remarks directed at anyone. For all I know, most of you may jolly well be considerate and loving fathers-in-law in your personal (family) lives.

Like my sisters, feminist or otherwise, I earnestly hope this flick will serve as a wake-up call for the entire sasur-saas-pati brigade to give their bahus a breather.

Picture from IMDb

Ruchira Adhikari Ghosh

Born in Guwahati Assam, Ruchira grew up in Delhi and Punjab. A product of Sacred Heart Convent, Ludhiana, she holds a Master’s degree in English Literature from Punjab University, Chandigarh. Armed with a P.G diploma in journalism in Journalism, she has been a pen-pusher for nearly 25 years. Her chequered career encompasses print, web, as well as television. She has metamorphosed as a feature writer, her forte being women’s issues, food, travel and literature.

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