Nepal: ‘Ek Bhagavat Ra Ek Geeta’ opens to the scenic scape of the Janaki Mandir in Janakpurdham. The elaborate palace made of stone and marble is truly a sight to behold the shrine is jewelled with Mithila paintings and warmed by the footsteps of loyal devotees. It is here that we meet a Bhagavat and a Geeta, an unusual (and inseparable) duo made up of a little boy and an adult woman.
Bhagavat
is the young son of a local politician. Geeta is the adopted daughter
(reminder, she is an adult) of Kamala Maai, the leader of a group of trans
women. And Kamala Maai is, you guessed it, Bipin Karki. There are so many
sub-plots in this film that it’s frankly difficult and, at times, boring to
keep track. But I will try nonetheless. Let’s start with the most interesting
one.
Bipin Karki’s Kamala Maai is the leader of the local trans
women’s commune, inspired by the Hijra communities within
Bhagavat,
played by twins Jvin and Jvis Shrestha (who is so unchaperoned that his parents
should be tried for negligence), somehow always makes it over to Geeta’s and
Kamala Maai’s home, where he is fascinated by their way of life and likes to
wear jewellery and traditionally feminine clothes.
This,
of course, doesn’t fare well with Bhagavat’s family, especially his trans
phobic, racist, sexist (and all the other -ists in the book) brother who chases
Geeta and Bhagavat with a gun, after which they are forced to run away to
Pokhara.
It
is on-route that Dhiraj Magar’s character kindly offers the duo a lift, which
they subsequently pay back by stealing from him and throwing away all his
groceries. Thus begins their adventure outside of Janakpurdham, where they tour
the picturesque hills of Pokhara.
The
film is a difficult watch for many reasons: the sound is particularly awkward,
and much of the dialogue and foley are unsynchronised. The primary cast is
mostly just pahadi Brahmins (in
a setting like Janakpur), and almost all of them fail to emulate the local
Maithili dialect, which at times feels caricaturish. Madheshi actors are pushed
to the side, mostly just playing filler characters with no agency.
The
film seems to confuse the transgender movement as simply
‘cross-dressing’—Bhagavat’s desire to wear jewellery and dress up in lehengas
is juxtaposed with Bipin Karki’s struggle for acceptance when he is publicly
shamed by his own wife and village elders for embracing queerness.
Trans
issues involve much more than just dressing up—the film fails to acknowledge
the often violent and regressive battles trans women have to face daily. The
issues often requiring structural and institutional change are simply brushed
over in the film. Instead, the final catharsis is Kamala Maai adjusting her saree
to beat up goons like that in a cringe action flick.
This
use of physical violence to solve the issue at hand severely limits the film’s
reach—the only difference here is that the ‘hero’ is wearing a mean red lip,
fake eyelashes and bangles. Its gaze is myopic because it assumes that the
classic hero-villain shtick will translate well into a story about trans folks.
(News flash: It has long stopped working for heteronormative stories.)
As
the end nears and Kamala Maai delves into a dramatic monologue, she refers to
how Hinduism has instances of embracing ‘queerness’ (and I put this in air
quotes)—the ‘Ardhanareshwar’ or ‘Brihannala’—and it feels half-baked. There’s a
sort of exotification with this narrative, as though trans individuals (and
only those who adhere to a very rigid structure) have value only through
religious association.
This
places trans folks in antiquity what about trans women who are atheists? Who
aren’t associated with any communes or houses? Who don’t wish to be seen as
just different but assimilate and live as normal human beings in society? Even
as her monologue ends and the villagers’ gazes stoop low, there’s still this
realisation that these trans women will never truly assimilate into society,
but will be seen as mostly benevolent anomalies.
urza Acharya
kathmandupost
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