Because Jamal could have given the wrong answer

It’s curious the kind of love and hate that Slumdog inspired in India when it was first released. So many articles, blogs, comments… It spoke to the conscience of the multiplex elite, particularly sensitised after the horrors of late November. But it seemed to annoy those who may have felt that ‘our’ misery was being cashed in on by the west. Or that the chest-thumping Arcelor-buying India was having its dirty laundry washed in front of the world. 

Now that ‘we’ have won all these Oscars, the enthusiasm may wash away all traces of the initial indifference the audience showed. Despite the hype, Slumdog (millionaire and crorepati combined) earned approximately 9 crore rupees in the first week of its release; and although 60 per cent of the 350 prints released were in Hindi, only 30 per cent of the collections came from the Hindi version. For some reason, Indian audiences, particularly the Hindi audiences, were not swept away by the film. 

There is a small independent film releasing this week that serves as an interesting counterpoint to Slumdog and may address this question of what Slumdog missed. Set in Dharavi, Barah Aana is also about faceless India: a driver, a watchman and a waiter. The people who surround us but whom we may not recognise if we saw them on the street. They are all migrants, fatigued to the bone, but with dreams in their eyes. Not far from Slumdog, in that they dream big. 
But that’s where the parallel ends…

Slumdog is an an outsider’s view of Bombay, the slums, and poverty. It fears poverty, and therefore portrays the slum kids’ lives as unmitigated misery. It’s how we, the privileged, see the lives of the them. Aren’t we lucky to be born where we are? It’s true we are. And we should feel guilty and question the injustice built into the system that affords us our comforts. This is what Slumdog does so effectively: it appeals to our conscience as the script wends its way around various social ills-from domestic violence to communalism to classism-and it simply doesn’t allow us to turn a blind eye.

Yet, for us to leave our seats satisfied, Slumdog needs to show the protagonist escape forever the grime and squalor that have turned our insides for the first hour or so. When you leave singing Jai Ho, you can leave far behind you the kids who are still waiting in line to use that vile toilet. 

To be fair to the film, it is a story, and it has a right to a happy ending. It shouldn’t be forced to carry the burden of societal problems that persist. Without its happy ending, it may not have reached the millions that it did. And Azharuddin and Rubina wouldn’t have walked the red carpet.

But that happy ending may be exactly why the single screen audiences have not loved the film. Jamal gets to rise above his misfortunes because he is destined to. Just as some of us were destined or lucky enough to be born where we were. So what does that mean for those who aren’t feeling lucky?

While Slumdog reached millions across the globe, Barah Aana has had trouble finding distribution; most likely because it doesn’t have the kind of happy ending that allows us to get away from what makes us deeply uncomfortable about our society. Although it is definitely a less miserable film than Slumdog, it doesn’t force a hokey happy ending to save our protagonist and make us feel good.
Because everyone doesn’t get saved. At least not by getting a crore, and the girl. But it suggests that there is redemption within real life. And happiness without the crore. Unlike Slumdog, Barah Aana is an insider’s view. It does not fear poverty as some kind of
awful third world disease. Yes, there is poverty, misery and hardship.
But there are also friendships and laughter, hope and flirtation... 
Barah Aana actually enters the homes of our protagonists.  And in their kholis we see the relationships that make India India. The forced intimacy of a shared space that grows into a real friendship, the sentimental outburst that shows real vulnerability and despair, the handing over of one’s savings without so much as a word said…

The happiness it allows is happiness that is possible. It values small gestures between friends, tenderness towards an unrequited love... and the winning of respect by standing up for oneself. The ultimate difference is that it respects the miserable lives that Slumdog wants to escape. The question is, do we, for some reason, prefer to believe in impossible happy endings instead of seeing joy in the lives we live? Or did a section of Bombay reject Slumdog because it missed what sustains us: a bindaas attitude, humour and friendships?