When I visited Calcutta late last year, I enjoyed a historical walking tour through the northern neighborhood that was once the center of the city's great Babu culture. Calcutta's Babus amassed great wealth while serving the colonial government through the 19th century. They also established some of the defining literary and artistic traditions of Calcutta. And in the sunset of their era, the early 20th century, some of them quite famously squandered their wealth, taking their pursuits to hedonistic extremes.
My tour took me into a crumbling, collonaded courtyard that had once been the grand cloister of a Babu's mansion. Sahib bibi aur ghulam ("master, wife, and servant") opens in the ruins of just such a space. The backdrop of this lovely film is, indeed, the decline of the great Calcutta culture of the Babu. The household of the Chaudhary brothers, Majhle Sarkar (D.K Sapru) and Chhote Sarkar (Rehman) evokes the stories I heard on my tour about Chhatu Babu and Lalu Babu; like these real-life emblems of Babu excess, the Chaudhary brothers host pigeon races and stage elaborate wedding celebrations for their cats. By the film's end, the Chaudharys have squandered it all, yet they cling to their rituals of hedonism; in one scene one of the brothers sits in a grand parlor empty of all rugs, art, and furnishings - except for his hookah.
All of this gaudy grandeur is shown through the everyman perspective of a young bumpkin called Bhootnath (Guru Dutt). Bhootnath arrives fresh from the countryside, gawping in disbelief at the vastness of the Chaudhary household, at the ceaseless bustle of its comings and goings, at the very idea of women not hidden in purdah. Guru Dutt plays Bhootnath broadly, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, but also very winningly. The film hints at some of the major social changes of the time, such as the growing nationalist movement or influential new religious philosophies. But these notions are kept fairly vague, just out of sharp focus, as they would be to the childlike Bhootnath even as he moves in their swirling midst. There is a sweetness to Bhootnath that stops just short of being cloying.
Bhootnath's boss's daughter, Jaba (Waheeda Rehman), sees his innocent charm too. Jaba is a delicious character, sexy and bold and youthful, yet free of the off-putting excess of girlishness that weakened Waheeda's ingenue in Bees saal baad. The pleasing tartness with which she teases Bhootnath makes for some of the most delightful moments of the movie, like the adorably playful song "Bhanwara bada nadan hai."
Bhootnath matures considerably in the course of the film, growing in confidence and sophistication, and his relationship with Jaba changes too over this time. Yet he does not lose the freshness, the hopefulness, the almost sense of wonder that makes him such a likable character. This is not the brooding, tortured artist of Guru Dutt films like Pyaasa and Kaagaz ke phool. It is Guru Dutt in a sweeter, gentler avatar; more like Bahurani.
As engaging as the dance between Bhootnath and Jaba is, though, Sahib bibi aur ghulam is arguably Chhoti Bahu's story, not theirs. Meena Kumari is remembered with effusive praise for the performance she delivers as Chhoti Bahu, the younger Chaudhary's wife. Neglected by her husband in favor of a tawaif who feeds his limitless appetite for saucy dance and liquor, Chhoti Bahu at first mopes around the haveli singing haunting, sad songs. Later, she finds some solace in the company of the innocent Bhootnath. And later still, Chhoti Bahu turns to drink in a desperate attempt to earn her husband's attention.
Meena Kumari's rendering of the downward spiral of depression and alcohol addiction is certainly compelling and fearless. It is also almost unbearably sad. Of course it is sad to watch this character crumble like the plaster and brick columns of the once-grand haveli. But more than that, it is tragic that Chhoti Bahu sees no value to her life, no use for her own existence if not to serve Chhote Sarkar and satisfy him with that service. For reasons that the film doesn't fully explore - Chhoti Bahu hints that her mother drove this value system deeply into her psyche - Chhoti Bahu exists in a despairing twilight, obsessed with capturing and retaining her husband's regard at any cost.
Even the other women of the Chaudhary household question this notion that Chhoti Bahu holds, mildly berating her for wasting so much fretful energy on her husband's night wanderings instead of just enjoying the riches and the leisure to which being his wife entitles her. Thus the message of the film is not to glorify Chhoti Bahu's erasure of self or advocate it as an ideal of womanhood. And in not carrying that message, the film magnifies and personalizes its tragedy. Sahib bibu aur ghulam is not a moral allegory, but a deeply intimate story about a deeply melancholy woman. Chhoti Bahu is that much more sympathetic as a person rather than an archetype, and the sadness of her decline, even as it parallels the decline of Babu culture writ large, is that much more keenly felt.
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Sahib bibi aur ghulam (1962)
साहिब बीबी और गुलाम
Dir. Abrar Alvi
When I visited Calcutta late last year, I enjoyed a historical walking tour through the northern neighborhood that was once the center of the city's great Babu culture. Calcutta's Babus amassed great wealth while serving the colonial government through the 19th century. They also established some of the defining literary and artistic traditions of Calcutta. And in the sunset of their era, the early 20th century, some of them quite famously squandered their wealth, taking their pursuits to hedonistic extremes.
My tour took me into a crumbling, collonaded courtyard that had once been the grand cloister of a Babu's mansion. Sahib bibi aur ghulam ("master, wife, and servant") opens in the ruins of just such a space. The backdrop of this lovely film is, indeed, the decline of the great Calcutta culture of the Babu. The household of the Chaudhary brothers, Majhle Sarkar (D.K Sapru) and Chhote Sarkar (Rehman) evokes the stories I heard on my tour about Chhatu Babu and Lalu Babu; like these real-life emblems of Babu excess, the Chaudhary brothers host pigeon races and stage elaborate wedding celebrations for their cats. By the film's end, the Chaudharys have squandered it all, yet they cling to their rituals of hedonism; in one scene one of the brothers sits in a grand parlor empty of all rugs, art, and furnishings - except for his hookah.
All of this gaudy grandeur is shown through the everyman perspective of a young bumpkin called Bhootnath (Guru Dutt). Bhootnath arrives fresh from the countryside, gawping in disbelief at the vastness of the Chaudhary household, at the ceaseless bustle of its comings and goings, at the very idea of women not hidden in purdah. Guru Dutt plays Bhootnath broadly, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, but also very winningly. The film hints at some of the major social changes of the time, such as the growing nationalist movement or influential new religious philosophies. But these notions are kept fairly vague, just out of sharp focus, as they would be to the childlike Bhootnath even as he moves in their swirling midst. There is a sweetness to Bhootnath that stops just short of being cloying.
Bhootnath's boss's daughter, Jaba (Waheeda Rehman), sees his innocent charm too. Jaba is a delicious character, sexy and bold and youthful, yet free of the off-putting excess of girlishness that weakened Waheeda's ingenue in Bees saal baad. The pleasing tartness with which she teases Bhootnath makes for some of the most delightful moments of the movie, like the adorably playful song "Bhanwara bada nadan hai."
Bhootnath matures considerably in the course of the film, growing in confidence and sophistication, and his relationship with Jaba changes too over this time. Yet he does not lose the freshness, the hopefulness, the almost sense of wonder that makes him such a likable character. This is not the brooding, tortured artist of Guru Dutt films like Pyaasa and Kaagaz ke phool. It is Guru Dutt in a sweeter, gentler avatar; more like Bahurani.
As engaging as the dance between Bhootnath and Jaba is, though, Sahib bibi aur ghulam is arguably Chhoti Bahu's story, not theirs. Meena Kumari is remembered with effusive praise for the performance she delivers as Chhoti Bahu, the younger Chaudhary's wife. Neglected by her husband in favor of a tawaif who feeds his limitless appetite for saucy dance and liquor, Chhoti Bahu at first mopes around the haveli singing haunting, sad songs. Later, she finds some solace in the company of the innocent Bhootnath. And later still, Chhoti Bahu turns to drink in a desperate attempt to earn her husband's attention.
Meena Kumari's rendering of the downward spiral of depression and alcohol addiction is certainly compelling and fearless. It is also almost unbearably sad. Of course it is sad to watch this character crumble like the plaster and brick columns of the once-grand haveli. But more than that, it is tragic that Chhoti Bahu sees no value to her life, no use for her own existence if not to serve Chhote Sarkar and satisfy him with that service. For reasons that the film doesn't fully explore - Chhoti Bahu hints that her mother drove this value system deeply into her psyche - Chhoti Bahu exists in a despairing twilight, obsessed with capturing and retaining her husband's regard at any cost.
Even the other women of the Chaudhary household question this notion that Chhoti Bahu holds, mildly berating her for wasting so much fretful energy on her husband's night wanderings instead of just enjoying the riches and the leisure to which being his wife entitles her. Thus the message of the film is not to glorify Chhoti Bahu's erasure of self or advocate it as an ideal of womanhood. And in not carrying that message, the film magnifies and personalizes its tragedy. Sahib bibu aur ghulam is not a moral allegory, but a deeply intimate story about a deeply melancholy woman. Chhoti Bahu is that much more sympathetic as a person rather than an archetype, and the sadness of her decline, even as it parallels the decline of Babu culture writ large, is that much more keenly felt.
Text (c) 2006-2016, Carla Miriam Levy.
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