To write about Jyothi Lakshmi is, in a real sense, to capture the spirit of a specific ethos of Indian cinema, perhaps totally unknown to the present generation bombarded with stunning images of glamour and power engendered by forces that generate, and are in turn sustained by huge capital.
Jyothi Lakshmi belonged to an era that had not been touched by the range and sweep of globalisation that thrives almost exclusively on capital power. In fact, the entire Indian film industry, barring a few exceptions worked at local levels. In fact,
Hindi films that journeyed into non-Hindi areas were not powerful enough to wipe out films made in Tamil, Kannada, Telugu and Malayalam. Even though some films made in Tamil and Telugu did move into other linguistic spaces, most South Indian films did not even cross their respective linguistic areas. The glamour and glitter of Hindi cinema and the icons it produced did not have the power to consume the ‘stars’ of Tamil, Telugu, Kannada and Malayalam cinema, even when one concedes that they had an all-India appeal. This is also a pointer to the fact that films made in local languages sustained the interest of their respective audience by drawing from local histories, cultures and mythologies situating them in their specific contexts. The big stars of Tamil, Kannada, Telugu and Malayalam cinema had their fans with them and were not overshadowed by the megastars of Hindi cinema.
It is against this larger background that we must turn to those like Jyothi Lakshmi, who, at best, figured as club dancers or doing their cabaret dances in the dens of villains and their goons. If Helen captured the imagination of film viewers all over the country, thanks to the sweeping range of Hindi cinema, Jyothi Lakshmi did have her own following all over South India for she performed in all the South Indian languages and in a few insignificant Hindi films. The point is that Jyothi Lakshmi did have her own popular appeal, and actually speaking, mass following- there were many who particularly went to those films only to be swayed by her ‘sizzling numbers’.
Certain distinctions have to be made in this context with reference to dancers like Jyothi Lakshmi, in particular and in general to blazing performers like Helen, followed by Bindu, Padma Khanna, and in the initial stages of her career, Mumtaz. When dancers were employed in Indian cinema in the past, there was certainly a thematic dimension to it, unlike the ‘item numbers’ of recent years. The dancers were used in sequences to highlight the context- like the ‘hero’ of the film going to the club to track the villain, or for instance, to foreground the might of the underworld don in all his arrogant, nonchalant style, and, in many cases, to portray the utter helplessness of the girl who becomes a cabaret dancer either to fend for her family in distress or to save her kith and kin who had been abducted by the don. There was an undeniable element of helplessness and despair crafted into the figure of the dancer. Most importantly, the dancers, even in the glossy Hindi films, became martyrs who sacrificed their lives to save the good ones, and not just the ‘hero’. One can think of a number of films where the vamp, the bad girl, becomes the saviour towards the end. The crucial point is that dancers, including mind numbing dancers like Helen, had a strong sense of ‘character’ built into their roles.
The story, and the manner in which the screenplay was constructed, did not use dance items merely to titillate the audience and to foster their voyeuristic impulses. It points to the nature of the times when the body of the woman was not used as an instrument or a tool just to ignite the passion of the viewers - so far removed from the dazzling ‘item dancers’ of recent times. The extension of this point is that there was no mindless commodification of the female body during those times, even when it was used to kindle the senses.
It is necessary to turn to the aesthetic principles that governed the movements of dancers of those times, if only to understand what constituted the aesthetics, or an almost total lack of it, in ‘item dancers’. Jyothi Lakshmi carried a part of her training as a dancer into her dance movements for the screen. The entire body came into play, as it did when Helen performed, and there was a full-bodied representation of the sensual element in those performances. One cannot by any stretch of imagination, regard it as classical, but there was surely a delicate sensual touch to it. The flaws in them came from the designs of choreographers and the directors who used dancers like Jyothi Lakshmi solely for commercial purposes. The discordant elements came from the compulsions created by the market driven film industry. In spite of these crippling tendencies that commodified the female dancers to an extent, the performers gave their portrayals some grace and dignity - atleast to the extent they could, given their marginalised roles in the films.
This is in sharp contrast to the obscene thrusts, ugly jabs and grotesque gestures of ‘item dancers’ and ‘item songs’ . The various parts of the body are dismembered units of the human self, the female to be precise, only to titillate and excite the viewers. The dismemberment of the female body of ‘item songs and dances’ is one of the products of an age that craves for satisfaction and pleasure by proxy annihilating subtle erotic features.
No account of performers like Jyothi Lakshmi is complete without a reference to their secondary status as performers, and more tragically, as human beings. Dancers like Jyothi Lakshmi were perhaps a shade better than the ‘extras’ who were employed in films. While those who perform ‘item numbers’ now are given huge amounts for their pieces, it was impossible for Jyothi Lakshmi or many like her to demand high remuneration at any stage, even when they were in great demand. They were not treated as celebrities or as super models, who could demand staggering sums for their numbers. In fact, they were abused and humiliated both on the sets and outside. The tragic end of Silk Smitha illustrates this very well. The untold agonising stories of innumerable women strongly point to the stoic manner in which they carried their pain and shame, and also brings one face to face with the feudal structures of the film industry and our society. Those were not days when the female body could be flaunted to hypnotise the audience and also to, as if to take revenge against the exploitative and inhuman film industry, literally and metaphorically demand its pound of flesh for baring itself in the most uninhibited manner.
The present-day spectacle of wielding power and attaining wealth by daring to bare cannot wipe out the images of helpless women compelled to exhibit their bodies for the pittance they received in the form of remuneration and the misery they went through in isolation. The ‘dirty picture’ of the past is to be remembered by those who deeply care for the exploited of the star-studded universe of cinema. The pathetic stories of the subaltern of the film world, women in particular, need to be told in greater detail.
