Like many of the leading ladies of her time, Vyjayanthimala Bali garnered her fair share of portrayals of the feminine archetypes prevailing in the so-called golden age of cinema. In films like Naya Daur (1957), Madhumati (1958) and Gunga Jumna (1961), she was the demure village belle with beauty spots on the chin who, when push came to shove, could be counted upon to do much more than just sway her eyelashes to the beat of an entrancing folk rhythm.
She was almost always the perfect ally to her man, suitably industrious when called for, and never just the frivolous object of his affection. Then, she played the pampered princess who undergoes a change of heart ( Prince , 1969), and the dazzlingly self-possessed courtesan ( Devdas , 1955) with a heart of gold, whose unrequited love created a paragon all of its own. These were tried-and-tested paradigms that thrived much before the politics of representation started creating murmurs on the sidelines. Almost as a rule, conventional Hindi cinema has always spectacularly upheld status quo when it comes to the delineation of women.
Working woman
Women characters were often seen purely in relation to a man: as daughter, wife, girlfriend or mother. They were the pretty women of the house, decorous but captivating, lending their personas to perfect lip-sync as they played away on the grand pianos they were seemingly tethered to.
However, Vyjayanthimala’s filmography provides several heartening glimpses of progressiveness in small measure, given the sheer number of working women she has essayed in a career spanning two decades. Hindi films, with their mainstream tropes, are not often considered agents of social change. However, their reach is immense, and the subliminal power of popular iconography can never be underestimated.
A trained danseuse in real life, Vyjayanthimala has played professional women in the performing arts in several films. In Sitara (1955) and Kathputli (1957), the lure of stardom draws her away from her humble beginnings as stage performer. In New Delhi (1956), she is the head of a dance academy and, presumably, its prima-donna-in-chief as well. In Naya Kanoon (1965), she is a crooner in a radio station.
There were, of course, other professions that women could lay claim to in those days, and Vyjayanthimala did them all, including the typist in Paigham (1959) and the nurse in Saathi (1968) and Hatey Bazarey (1967). In Kismet Ka Khel (1956), she played Anokhi, the leader of a gang of thieves. In Anjaan (1956), she is a flower girl given to pidgin prattle, and in Miss Mala (1954), she took on the guise of a particularly fetching psychiatrist, with a jacket permanently perched on her sari-clad frame, presumably signifying both sophistication and schooling.
The rare one
The oldest profession in the world was also not left untouched — Vyjayanthimala played a prostitute in Sadhna (1958), where her devotion to a man’s family proves to be her deliverance.
Two films in this body of work stand out: College Girl (1960) and Dr. Vidya (1962). In both, Vyjayanthimala appears to be taking up cudgels for female emancipation much more directly than in her other films. For instance, in Paigham , even as a rare woman in a factory setting, the clacking of typewriters only appeared to offset the love triangle she was embroiled in. In College Girl , she tops her university and wins an all-inclusive scholarship, but her college prospects are shot down by a conservative father concerned about the intermingling of the sexes in higher education institutions. She ultimately feigns a stint in an all-woman tailoring college, while actually enrolling in medical school to become a doctor.
In Dr. Vidya , she is up against a rustic paramour (Manoj Kumar) with an unfounded prejudice against ‘educated girls’ — so she takes on the guise of a demure village girl (what else) before some propitious life-saving exposes her as the qualified doctor she truly is. The manner in which Vyjayanthimala’s characters accomplish their goals in these films is certainly laced with regressiveness, but the potency of their ultimate triumphs remains untouched by such hindrances.
The writer sought out cinema that came at least two generations before him, even as a child. That nostalgia tripping has persisted for a lifetime.
