A Scathing Critique of the Savarnas
In late August, filmmaker Anubhav Sinha put out a tweet addressing the obvious need for more movies to be made on the caste system and assured his audiences that he certainly will make a few. Sinha’s tweet came a day after Kangana Ranaut — a self-proclaimed proud Kshatrani — had claimed that the “Cast system” has been rejected by modern Indians and urged people to let go of constitutional safeguards in the form of reservations, as they were the only one actually holding on to their caste.
Sinha, a Brahmin from Varanasi who until very recently was known for over-the-top stories like Dus, Cash, and Ra.One, has shot to newfound second-innings-glory after making movies revolving around Islamophobia (Mulk), patriarchy (Thappad), and caste (Article 15). While Sinha’s comments drew support from his collaborators and friends within the movie industry, Dalit and Bahujan students, activists, and support groups criticised him heavily for his Savarna-saviour attitude, which was also the most remarkable feature of his movie Article 15.
Over a month after Kangana’s cacophony and Sinha’s heroics, Rajesh Rajamani made his short film debut with The Discreet Charm of the Savarnas, a twenty-minute satire on YouTube about the caste-blindness and hypocrisies of Savarna-saviours. Presented by Pa Ranjith, the movie is the story of three probably-thirty-something friends who, like Sinha, want to make a movie on the caste system. However, problem strikes when our protagonists — who spend their time reading Toni Morrison, watching Hitchcock, and debating whether a particular quote belongs to Rumi or Kahlil Gibran — learn of their lead actor backing out one day before their shoot is to commence. What follows is their whimsical hunt for a “Dalit-looking actor” across Mumbai, through which Rajamani brings out an honest depiction of the upper-class liberal-woke Indian youth.
Early on in the movie, a character remarks about how interestingly James Baldwin shapes the social alienation of the protagonist in Giovanni’s Room. This serves almost as a mirror to the social detachment that cripples the current generation of upper-caste woke-liberal US-centric political activism in our country. Our protagonists are aware of the politics of the world, are cautious about minute casual forms of sexism, watch Satyajit Ray’s social dramas for leisure, and converse entirely in chaste English. And they want to make a movie with a Dalit character in the lead! But, even as they go about this “noble deed” for woke brownie points, they are quick to dismiss several early casting options because they are “too sophisticated” or “too middle class for a Dalit”. They are also quick to have the specific details of their own Brahmin identities at the tip of their tongues.
The comment about the social alienation of Baldwin’s protagonist also serves as a nod to the social exclusion that Dalits have continued to face in all sorts of social spheres. Some of that exclusion is overt and visible — like the unfortunate but regular instances of caste-based violence across the country and even overseas (read, Silicon Valley). But a lot of that exclusion occurs in much more covert terms, like Savarna-saviours occupying and gatekeeping spaces in both formal (academia, politics, bureaucracy) and informal (movies, music, popular culture) areas — denying Dalits and Bahujans the opportunities to tell their own stories. Sinha’s movie falls under that category. A recent Netflix adaptation of an award-winning novel also falls under the same.
Rajesh Rajamani, who is also the creator of the online comic series Inedible India, smartly places the protagonists’ hunt for their “Dalit face” on the day of Ambedkar Jayanti, and when our filmmakers with a mission to save society have to deal with traffic congestions in the very world they want to show in their movie, those celebrating the life and triumphs of the definitive Dalit face — Ambedkar — get termed a fringe group by our beloved James Baldwin fan.
The Discreet Charm of the Savarnas turns the idea of movies on Dalits carrying an inherent Savarna gaze on its head by looking at the making of a Savarna-gaze Dalit movie through the Dalit gaze, and this is the film’s biggest strength. The lead trio comprising of Mathivanan Rajendran, Kani Kusruti, and Rajagopalan Ganesan do their job well as three enthusiastic amateurs pretending to have a purpose. Kani Kusruti is particularly remarkable as the champion of women’s causes even as she turns a blind eye to the realities of caste and the ways it functions. Chinganbam Akhu’s songs weave in perfectly with the narrative and enrich the viewing experience.
Rajamani’s movie ends with the trio being hailed as brave and bold for their bare-minimum act of making a movie about a Dalit. The audiences for the trio’s in-film movie occupy the same social class and status as them, as is true for their real-life movie industry parallels, and any criticism from the actual group of people concerned with such stories are simply sidelined because they are never let to occupy the mainstream spaces. And The Savarna continue to charm us.
You can watch the film here.
