Don't Dismiss the Feminism of Dangal and Mahavir Phogat Just Because It Doesn't Resemble Yours
This past weekend, Aamir Khan's Dangal released to much acclaim and excitement. I say Aamir Khan's and not Fatima Sana Shaikh's or Sanya Malhotra's because, before the film released, no one knew about them. If the film were promoted primarily on their names, it wouldn't have made 100 crores within the first three days. I loved the film, and so did everyone I knew, until I came home and read multiple thinkpieces about the film's 'misplaced feminism' and 'toxic masculinity.'

It made me wonder, did I enjoy the film because I'm conditioned to endure patriarchal bullshit or because it was genuinely progressive and uplifting? After much discussion with friends and feminists, I'm here to tell you that, make no mistake, Dangal is as much about feminism as it is about wrestling. And we can't dismiss that just because it doesn't resemble the feminism we're used to writing about on a daily basis.
Dangal is about a former wrestler who trains his daughters to become champion wrestlers, and much of the criticism against the film bemoans the fact that the father, Mahavir Singh Phogat, forced his dreams and ambitions on his girls, and was so glorified in the film that the daughters, Geeta and Babita, were forgotten. First of all, despite whatever creative liberty the director took, this is a film inspired by real-life events. Mahavir did, in fact, train his daughters, and Geeta and Babita did, in fact, go on to win international competitions for India. Every achiever's parents are glorified, and here the parent was also the coach, so it seemed fair to attribute some part of their success to him.

In the film, we see how Mahavir couldn't win a gold medal for his country, so he assumed his son would. When he has four daughters, one after another, the disappointment shows on his face. You can either hate him for feeling that, or understand that he's not your typical baby girl-drowning father, but, because of his conditioning, he doesn't realize that his daughters could win medals as well. Even before that realization hits him - which is his first feminist act - he keeps assuring his wife that he loves his girls. He's involved and present (you can see him help his daughters with homework in multiple scenes), and never abusive or dismissive of them. Once he sees that he's been underestimating how strong his daughters are, there's no stopping him.
At this point, several people thought Mahavir robbed Geeta and Babita of their childhood, but look around at any coach and you will see that training for sporting events of this stature needs the kind of discipline most of us would crumble under. Forget coach, just go ask your personal trainer.

For the rest of the film, Mahavir pushes his daughters harder, ignores the pointed comments from his neighbours about how he's lost his mind because he's not getting his girls married and instead letting them run around in shorts. Look closely. That's what feminism looks like in villages. When urban women write about wanting to walk down the street in shorts without being harassed, they're told that their demands are 'frivolous' because women in villages are dealing with so much worse. When women in villages wrestle in shorts, we're being told their feminism is being taken away by their father?
The argument that feminism in Bollywood is palatable only when it's being voiced by men is valid for Pink, but not for Dangal, where the women are busy living out their feminism while their father voices it to the men who won't let his girls enter the akhada. Mahavir's ego might have initially been the reason he pushed his girls towards excellence, but barring their initial hesitation, Geeta and Babita were clearly in their element in every match. If their father hadn't been the maniac that he was, they wouldn't have been dancing at a friend's mehendi, they'd have been getting ready for their own wedding at 14. Many people were left wondering why he never stopped to think about what his daughters' hopes and dreams might be, but they're forgetting that in that society, the girls weren't allowed to dream. They didn't know the first thing about what they wanted to do, until their father showed it to them. As an adult, Geeta rebelled against her father's coaching method, not the sport.

None of this is to say that there weren't problematic stereotypes peppered through the film. The girls constantly shamed their male cousin for having lost to girls and used him as a punching bag. Typical signs of femininity - long hair, nail polish, enjoying romantic films - are looked down upon as distracting. But the girls never fall in love in the movie, and that in itself seems like a fairly realistic win for Bollywood.
At one point in the film, trying to stop the madness, Sakshi tells Aamir, "chhoriyaan hain, paer toot jayenge." And he says, "Judwa denge." That's it. That's feminism.
0