Growing up as an NRI Malayali kid, one of my only connections to my culture and language was the movies that played on repeat on Asianet and Asianet Plus. Njangal Santhushtaranu was one of those classics that was always on. Maybe, I was one of the few lucky kids who got to watch their favourite movies every time I turned on the television, but regardless, this movie always left me in tears (the good kind). It was always a good time.
Until recently…
Before I jump into doing what I do best, it is necessary to point out the charm of Njangal Santhushtaranu and why you keep finding yourself watching it, despite its multiple, not-so-subtle flaws and casual sexism.
Firstly, the film is comedy gold. The plot, which revolves around a musically gifted, aesthete police officer, Sanjeevan, and his so-called “spoilt-brat” trophy wife, Geethu, belongs in the modern class of rom-com. She is all sugar and spice and Sanjeevan is an alpha male with a heart of gold, infinite patience and an inherent desire to create “obedient, family-loving wives”.
I don’t think I can write anything about Njangal Santhushtaranu without being sarcastic about its treatment of women, but what I said about the comedy stands. A lot of the comedy is situational. Obviously, we have the kings of the Malayalam comedy genre, Jayram and Jagathy, competitively leaving us holding on to our aching stomachs as we wheeze with laughter.
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Secondly, Geethu’s (the female lead) fashion is on point. Sure, it’s part of her bratty, privileged personality, but she is a stunner. You cannot but be rooted to the screen, watching her outfits, all of which were not just timeless, but bright and meant to be eye-catching.
Finally, the story hits all the necessary plot points to leave you feeling satisfied. We have written time and again about the structure of narratives and how stories are meant to be entertaining. Njangal Santhushtaranu does exactly that. It gives you a set of characters to root for, a small little family with a dad, brother and two sisters, a new bratty girl who is trying to fit herself into this dysfunctional dynamic (who we all know will be reformed in the end), a nice push-and-pull love story, enough harmless drama to delver poetic justice and enough gossip-worthy “wtf drama” to keep you glued to your seat. So clearly, the film is winning, as one would expect it to.
Here, I am attempting something we do a lot of in English literature classes. Taking a text (here, the movie) out of context and looking at it from a different lens (the marriage age bracket) to derive a different meaning out of it. It sounds fancy, but truth be told, I recently saw the film in my feed on YouTube and decided to watch it again, for the old times’ sake.
And let me tell you, I was not amused.
Actually, that’s an understatement.
I was beyond amused. Beyond amused at the audacity of the creators to be as misogynistic as they were, beyond amused at how it was one of the most well-performing films of its time and beyond amused at how it remains a classic even today.
So, as a former fan and present critic, here is my renewed perspective of Njangal Santhushtaranu as a woman in the marriageable age bracket in India.
#1 This film is a PSA about what behaviours qualify as that of an “ideal wife”.
If there is one thing Njangal Santhushtaranu wants to establish from the very beginning, literally the first fifteen minutes of the film, it is the qualities of an “ideal, loving, wonderful” wife.
And let me tell you, the list is not short. It will mostly put America Ferara’s speech in Barbie to shame.
Here’s an inferior attempt at what this movie proclaims are the qualities of a good, virtuous wife:
She should be fashionable, but should not dress in bright colours.
She needs to take care of herself, but not at the expense of mothering the protagonist’s sisters.
She should be at her husband’s bedside in the morning, with a cup of hot tea, but a life to herself? Oh, the horror!
She is not expected to work, but hey, who even considers household tasks as work in this century? It’s a duty, a gift handed down through marriage.
She needs to be an expert at all things – cooking, cleaning, Malayalam literature, love, sex…
She has to be loving and kind, she has to earn her place in her husband’s house.
Anger, now, is that even an emotion a wife is supposed to have?
We wouldn’t know, because we are not entitled to it.
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#2 A good wife is one who is reformed by her husband.
According to this cultural classic, any woman has two separate lives: who she was before marriage and who she is supposed to be after marriage. The creators of Njangal Santhushtaranu go above and beyond to establish Geethu as a snobbish, bratty, rich, cultured daughter of the protagonist’s superior officer, already placing her in a higher societal position.
Sure, class differences and economic disparity are indeed relevant subjects that need to be highlighted in the film, but what method do you use here?
Downright mockery.
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Geethu is typecasted to represent any liberated modern, feminist woman. She is multilingual, independent, has a thriving professional and social life, knows her place in society, is aware of her value and worth, has a firm understanding of boundaries and comes from a loving home. This is Geethu before marriage (sounds familiar, yeah?)
Now let’s look at her post-marriage.
She is mocked and reduced to the butt of every joke in Sanjeevan’s family because none of them are qualified enough to meet her standards. As a woman who has had to move out of the comforts of her household to somebody else, nobody really makes her feel welcome.
She refuses to wear a saree on her wedding night (the first violation of the ‘ideal wife’ expectation).
She is upset with Sanjeevan’s decision to not leave his fully-grown sisters at home during their honeymoon (he decides to teach her a lesson).
She is well-spoken and can articulate herself and her boundaries in a kind, but stern manner (her punishment: public mockery).
She gets sick of being laughed at, at home (she is slapped across the face).
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I can go on and on. But from these few sample moments of transgressions in Njangal Santhushtaranu, it is quite evident what the messaging is. A woman becomes a wife in the hands of her husband. The creators do not really give us a reason to justify any of Geethu’s actions, regardless of how valid they are. She is haughty, extremely unlikable, headstrong and annoying.
But, here’s the real question.
Why can’t she be all of these, be entitled to her anger (a valid one that too), make mistakes, maintain her individuality and still be a good wife?
#3 The other women in the film need a mention as examples of “future ideal wives”.
A discussion on classic ‘wifey-material’ according to Nangal Santhushtaranu should also include Sanjeevan’s two sisters. They are offered as a contrast to the transgressive Geethu, trained by the protagonist himself, to become excellent wives to their future husbands.
They don’t have any opinions of their own, live under their brother’s shelter and are at his beck and call. Growing up without a mother, the two sisters take on the roles of the female figure in the household, cooking for Sanjeevan and their father and maintaining the house. Njangal Santhushtaranu begins with a comment from Sanjeevan about how his criticism of their cooking will make sure that they will be “happy in someone else’s house”.
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Because obviously, a good, ideal wife must also be qualified to win MasterChef.
The film had an excellent opportunity to portray strong, familial relationships among women from different backgrounds, not related by blood: that of Geethu, an upper-class socialite and Sanjeevan’s sisters, two women who were forced to grow up too quickly.
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Instead, what unfolds are petty fights among the women in the story. Sanjeevan’s sisters are dead set on instructing his new wife about his likes and dislikes in all spaces within their shared home, starting in the kitchen to their bedroom. Geethu, on the other hand, is obsessed with her husband’s relationship with his sisters and wants to put an end to all of it.
#4 We need to talk about the resolution of the film, or what happens to arrogant un-dutiful wives.
Here’s the thing: the thesis statement of this film is simple.
Make a wife out of Geethu.
And how do Sanjeevan and the gang do it? Make her realise the value of family and relationships with the (very shocking) plot twist, she is an orphan!
Like nobody saw that coming.
The parents who raised her from childhood, her adopted brother, her loving, feminist uncle, and all her friends, none of them matter any more with this revelation.
Why? Because they are not related to her by blood.
Again, Njangal Santhushtaranu wasted another wonderful opportunity to narrate a story about complicated relationships and how they intertwine within Kerala’s social structure.
But nope, instead we get a bunch of idiots rejoicing about how they brought a woman down by erasing her pride, her upper-class status, her family, her parents and her boundaries.
With all of this stripped away, the film’s goal is accomplished, they have made an ‘ideal’ wife out of the female lead.
She is unmade, ready to come back to her husband’s house and assume her wifely duties i.e., be stripped off of an interesting personality, be dutiful, be a mother and a sister, re-learn culture, become a wonderful cook, learn Malayalam literature, bring her husband a cup of tea in the morning, put up with his bullshit, become a sex machine, give him kids and then raise them to continue said patterns.
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I am sure, I will most likely end up getting hate from several people who have loved watching the film. I can even imagine the criticism that is coming my way.
‘…it’s a 1999 film. It was the culture then…’
‘…you need to be sensitive to the social and cultural context in which the film was made…’
‘…this is some random feminist rant about a fun movie…’
‘…misandry!…’
Here’s my humble appeal as someone who also equally enjoyed Njangal Santhushtaranu, and a millennial kid.
If this was the culture then, then this culture remains unchanged.
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A woman, regardless of any age or period, need not be reformed or unmade to be a wife. She is who she is, legally bound to a man or not.
That said, currently, Malayalam cinema, is making significant efforts to bring the female perspective into cinema about marriage and marital relationships. We are no longer chasing the stereotypes of dutiful, rag-dolls as wives.
But rather, female characters in cinema have the agency to be ambitious and wife-like. To be sophisticated, rich, from a different social class and still be a sane wife to someone.
Above all, films today, have stopped portraying headstrong, stubborn women as savages.
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Again, coming back to the speech from Barbie, I’ll end with these very relevant lines: “I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us. And if all of that is also true for a doll just representing women, then I don’t even know.”
