The Voice that Spoke Where the CBFC Fell Silent: Smita Patil

When one watches Ketan Mehta’s 1987 film Mirch Masala, one cannot ignore the resolute Sonbai, the village belle at the centre of a palpable rural universe. This world on the celluloid was where rebellion was enacted in concert, all in its spicy and stinging glory.

Essayed by the inimitable Smita Patil, Sonbai’s resistance was the ultimate feminist war-cry against the encroaching force of patriarchy, which stuck long after the film was released. However, Sonbai wasn’t the only character Patil essayed. Dusky, svelte, and with eyes that spoke volumes, Patil is still recognised for her impactful performances on the silver screen, years after her life was cut short unexpectedly.

A Life Lived in Rebellion

Eloquent and equal parts spirited, Patil was born to atheist parents and was educated in literature. Initially, she aspired to be a scriptwriter. However, fate had other plans for her. Shyam Benegal, the patron saint of Indian parallel cinema, spotted Smita and conjured several visions involving her, which translated into films like Bhumika, Nishant, and Manthan.

The National Film Award for Best Actress in 1977 defined Smita’s rise as an unparalleled actor. With an oeuvre consisting of both art cinema and mainstream films, the art house diva earned her moniker thanks to her vast range and how she could make the scene do her bidding effortlessly. However, more than an actor, Smita was a feminist icon. One can recollect her sensitive portrayals of roles frowned upon by mainstream darlings. More than just a pretty face, Patil is remembered for her association with organisations such as the Women’s Centre in Mumbai and her criticism of the one-dimensional portrayal of women on the silver screen. In one such interview with Doordarshan, Patil bares the industry’s proclivity to load women's plates with gratuitous violence to attract crowds.

“In our time, there was a saying amongst filmmakers. If a woman emerges out of the theatre in tears, the film would be a hit. It is a product of years of conditioning them. When a woman sees a pure, docile, Sati-Savitri character on screen, it touches a nerve in her that come what may, she can endure endless travesties and will be rewarded eventually. Her husband will touch her feet and everything will be okay.”In the same interview, Patil also touched upon the glorification and sensationalisation of sexual assault.“One cannot show the hero naked as that will not achieve anything. So they do it to the woman. They know that if they show a naked woman, that will attract a hundred more eyes. This unnecessary nudity is forced on Indian audiences. The makers say ‘Look, here is a lot of sex and half-naked bodies’. They force this attitude on audiences and make them accept it. The same exploitation is enforced via posters too, like they did with me in Chakra.”

This was ironically when the Central Board of Film Certification (also known as the Censor Board) was rampantly banging its righteous gavel on films depicting social issues. However, it didn’t extend the criticism to commercial films that capitalised on female nudity and unnecessary violent sequences of disrobing and sexual assault.

In this respect, Patil’s candid views laid the hypocrisy bare—something that still draws a stark parallel with how films with item songs pass the cut, while depictions of progressive thought are butchered systematically.

And Then Came the Paradox

Despite earning the admiration and envy of her peers for her elegance, Patil also had more than a few stumbling moments. While acting in mainstream films like Namak Halal, where she shot the steamy monsoon number ‘Aaj Rapat Jaaye’, Patil felt deeply ashamed of herself as the song clashed with the ethics of her profession and capitalised on her sensuality. In a later interview with the feminist journal Manushi, Patil grudgingly admitted that she had little say in the way she was depicted. It is here that her opposition came to a sobering realisation that her way to fame and growth also came at the expense of her own sexualisation. Nevertheless, she continued to put her foot down when she had to and also admitted her folly when she had defended her semi-nude scene in Chakra for four years. Another incident surfaced when Patil criticised South Indian actresses and their inability to see their own exploitation. Citing Sridevi as an example, Patil was quoted in a Stardust interview,

“Sridevi is a good friend of mine. I really would like to talk to her, ask her whether she is aware of the way she is being exploited…And these South Indian actresses have not even been brought up to think. Their surroundings don't give them a chance to grow very much mentally. They are groomed to be actresses from their childhood. They are extremely protected on the sets and otherwise. So it is only natural that they look at life through their parents' eyes. They do these meaningless scenes to make enough money and get married. And by the end of their lives, they haven't even realised that they were being exploited all their life. It's a pity.”

One might suggest that there was a grain of truth in what Patil said. However, it cannot be ignored that she chose to make South Indian actresses the focus of her ire, when it could very well have been a criticism of the film industry and its continuing predation of young child actors way into their adulthood. By projecting actresses like Sridevi as bumbling idiots who were incapable of realising their own victimhood, Patil did not explore the nuance of a victim being aware of their oppression and not voicing it due to larger factors at play.

Life Says Cut!

Yes, pregnancy photoshoots were a thing. Smita had one with Raj for a magazine back in the 80s.

Some of the biggest travesties in Patil’s life emerged in her relationship with Raj Babbar, who was already married. The Women’s Club she once endorsed, heavily criticised her role in the affair as the ‘homewrecker’. This was more controversial given Patil’s outspoken views on feminism, and then choosing to settle with a man who essentially violated the law preventing bigamy for Hindu men.

Patil confessed that her parents, too, chided her for getting involved with Babbar. The said affair had a short life. Smita, who yearned for a committed relationship, unfortunately died unrecognised as a spouse and vilified more than Babbar, who went on to have more relationships after her demise.

For many, her wish of dying like a suhagan, a married woman, despite her unconventional relationship and her beliefs about marriage not being too significant, was also confounding. She also wanted to experience the rigours of painful labour as ‘she wished to become a mother naturally.’ 

Given her earlier views on the glorification of pain for women, Patil also nurtured views that gave in to the same notion. While conceiving naturally without epidurals is rightly contested as a disturbing idea of motherhood, Patil was adamant about her wish. This too went against the grain of what she endorsed. Unfortunately, fourteen days after she delivered her son, Patil breathed her last at the young age of 31 in 1986.

Despite her flaws, Smita Patil remained cinema’s most stellar performer. Confident, passionate, and erudite, hers was a life lived large despite its tragic end and her unfulfilled wishes. It isn’t wrong to call her life celluloid personified—something that came with its own entrance, eventful acts, and a swan song. Patil, even today, rules the part of public memory that has her name emblazoned on it with platinum letters.