Karthik Subburaj's Dorothy

 I watched Karthik Subburaj’s (KS) film Dorothy this past Sunday. This is his second film that has gripped me in a tight chokehold — like a challenge, an inescapable introspection — after Iraivi, which I watched about a decade ago.

And what is challenged? The male ego, as I know and see it.

The male charade of brute physical strength is exposed as weak. The patriarchal insistence on family honour is exposed as hollow. And the stereotypes of toxic masculinity are exposed as meaningless and futile.

The film is set in the parochial milieu of the Madurai region of Tamil Nadu in the 80s and 90s. Male bonding is cemented through the tropes of physical violence, guts bordering on bravado, and an emphasis on being insensitive to human feelings — men don’t cry, don’t flinch on seeing corpses, and don’t recoil from witnessing or participating in gross violence.

The young, macho Subbu turns the more timid Karthi into a gutsy, reckless teenager and adult. And he himself transforms into Dorothy.

All the legs that toxic masculinity stands on are shown to be baseless and weak. The transformed Subbu is much stronger emotionally, and also physically, than all the men who set out to attack her at a wayside dhaba, for example. She is easily able to tackle her rowdy brothers and father after her transformation.

The film also leaves us with questions about whether Whistle Ayya is actually Subbu’s father or possibly his grandfather.

KS masterfully uses imagery and symbols to bring out interesting perspectives. The wall screams “Raymond — The Complete Man” when Subbu reveals the transformation to Karthi’s mother in a deeply sensitive scene. The journey in the truck, when Subbu is about to reveal this to Karthi, has the silhouette of childbirth inside a tent of nomads. The fight involving Karthi and Subbu with the upper-caste goon on a muddy field has, in the background, the struggle of an ant and a huge mudball — almost like a David-Goliath encounter.

The naming is fascinating too. The film is named Dorothy — a name used symbolically in LGBTQi communities. Dorothy is also the name of Subbu’s sister-in-law, the person he feels closest to at that point and to whom he can reveal his secrets. It is also the name he gives to the male rooster he is very fond of. And ultimately, it is the name he/she acquires at the end of the film, after the Nirvaana.

The two childhood friends share parts of the director KS’s name — perhaps symbolising that all of us carry within us the forces of yin and yang, the masculine and the feminine. And perhaps also that we need to give way to the feminine more often.

The questions of caste and identity loom large in the film. Marriages are never tolerated when the groom is from a caste lower than that of the bride. The men in the families of the brides place enormous emphasis on family honour. Cancelling wedding plans becomes commonplace, and some even go to the extent of committing murders with the intention of guarding this perceived family honour.

Whistle Ayya gets the girl Karthi loves married to a man of her own caste instead of the lower-caste Karthi. But when he asks Subbu’s elder brother about the caste of Dorothy, whom he brings home as his bride, he doesn't object to her being from a caste perceived as higher than theirs. Even if her name sounds Christian, he says, she looks like a Brahmin woman.

There is something deeply revealing about this.

KS uses acute cinematic skills, and the maestro Ilaiyaraaja weaves his genius through the film, raising it into what will surely become a cult classic. The cinematography, the background score, the skillful use of landscapes and lighting, and the songs make the film a true cinematic experience.

There will hardly be a heart that is not moved to tears by Ilaiyaraaja singing the solo lines “VaNNakkiLi…” in the middle of trance music that this generation can dance and sway to.

There is no way one can watch the towering, rugged backdrop of large rocky structures and mountains and not be struck by the contrast with the tiny human characters inhabiting that landscape.

And perhaps there is no male who will not feel a little uncomfortable — perhaps even guilty — watching, on screen, exactly the toxic masculinity that many of us have grown up with.

Dorothy is a film of transformation.

I hope those who watch the film will come away wanting to create less violence — in the bedroom, in society, and even on the roads of India.

That, perhaps, is the transformation that we truly need.

Rethinking the Concept of 'Mother Tongue' in Multilingual India

 

In a world where multilingualism is increasingly common, the concept of a "mother tongue" is becoming outdated and limiting. As a researcher in linguistics and language education, I've been exploring this issue in the context of India, one of the most linguistically diverse countries in the world. My recent study challenges the traditional notion of mother tongue and argues for a more nuanced understanding of linguistic identity. 

  

The Problem with 'Mother Tongue' 

  

Consider these scenarios: 

- You're highly proficient in multiple languages. Which one is your mother tongue? 

- Your parents speak different languages. What's your mother tongue then? 

- Your first language is considered a "dialect" rather than a "legitimate language." How does this affect your linguistic identity? 

- You feel ashamed to disclose your mother tongue due to social pressures. 

  

These situations are common in India, where linguistic diversity is the norm rather than the exception. Yet, we continue to use the concept of 'mother tongue' as if it were a simple, straightforward matter. 

  

The Indian Context: A Case Study in Complexity 

  

During research, I encountered numerous examples that highlight the complexity of linguistic identity in India: 

  

1. Census takers sometimes assume or suggest a dominant language as someone's mother tongue, even when it isn't. 

2. Many individuals initially claim Hindi as their mother tongue, only to later identify with regional languages like Braj, Marwari, or Bundelkhandi when given the opportunity. 

3. Children of multilingual parents often identify with fewer languages than their parents, sometimes favoring more dominant or prestigious languages. 

  

The Historical Perspective 

  

Interestingly, the concept of language as a marker of individual or group identity is relatively new in India. Until the late 19th century, languages were primarily associated with geographical locations rather than personal identity. People commonly used multiple languages for different aspects of their daily lives without feeling the need to claim a single linguistic identity. 

  

This shift towards linguistic identity and the concept of 'mother tongue' came about largely due to Western influences during the colonial period. 

  

The Case for 'Multicompetence' 

  

Instead of clinging to the limiting idea of a single mother tongue, I propose embracing the concept of 'multicompetence.' This approach recognizes that: 

  

1. Most Indians are plurilingual, with varying levels of proficiency in multiple languages. 

2. Our linguistic abilities are context-dependent and fluid. 

3. The Western monolingual lens of language proficiency doesn't capture the nuanced language use in India. 

  

By moving away from single-language labels, we can better appreciate the rich tapestry of linguistic abilities that many Indians possess. 

  

A New Way Forward 

  

To better understand and describe linguistic identities in India, we need to: 

  

1. Recognize the fluidity of language boundaries, especially in border regions where languages blend and mix. 

2. Appreciate the informal, non-standardized language practices that occur in everyday interactions. 

3. Adopt concepts like 'communities of practice' to describe shared linguistic strategies without enforcing rigid language boundaries. 

  

Conclusion 

  

The notion of 'mother tongue' has been a powerful force in India, sometimes even leading to social unrest. However, it's time to move beyond this limiting concept. By embracing our multilingual realities and celebrating the diverse linguistic competencies we possess, we can foster a more inclusive and accurate understanding of language in India. 

  

As researchers and educators, it's our responsibility to lead this shift in perspective. Let's move away from the question "What is your mother tongue?" and instead ask, "What languages do you use, and how do you use them?" This approach not only reflects the reality of language use in India but also celebrates the rich linguistic diversity that makes our country unique. 

(This blogpost is extracted from my article published in the ELTIF journal)

References 

Annamalai, E. (2008). 10 Contexts of multilingualism. Language in South Asia, 223. 

Canagarajah, S., Makoni, A., & Pennycook, A. (2007). Disinventing and reconstituting languages. 

Khubchandani, L. M. 1997. Language policy and education in the Indian subcontinent. In R. Wodak & D. Corson (eds.), Encyclopedia of Language and Education, 179–187. Dordrecht: Springer Publishing. doi: https://doi.org/10.1007/978-94-011-4538-1_17  

Mitchell, L., 2009. Language, Emotion, and Politics in South India the Making of a Mother tongue, Contemporary Indian Studies. Indiana University Press, Bloomington.