Yesterday I saw Chak De India for the second time. Heart-warming stuff, mostly. A young player beleaguered by history, a team of women hockey players with more seconds than firsts in its repertoire, a narrative imperative to beat all patriarchal odds, world domination as a reward - truly heady mix to match contemporary India's mood of We Can Do It All, despite the ills that bedraggle and obstruct - for example differences of race, belief, status, opinion, power, intent.

And it's refreshing stuff the reviews say - no romantic angles, no song-and dance, and SRK not allowed to do what he can do really well - ham, that is.

Yet, I come out of the cinema hall for the second time feeling agi-tagi. And I think I want to spoil the Chak de party a little bit and share with you why.

Of course this IS a love-story, a love-story par excellence, if not par-venu - for this is a classic tale of romancing the nation-state. That much is clear, and it's a fairly obvious point to make. There is plenty of song-and-dance made about what you can do for the country and what the country can do for you. BUT, and here come the pernickety bits:

It has already been pointed in other posts that after all the fanfare with which India's margins and marginals from Mizoram, Jharkhand are introduced, they eventually remain just margins, chorus-line stuff, and the main story of success is driven by the strength, talent and competitiveness of the rustic Punjab, the caustic Haryana, and uber-urban Chandigarh!

But even more than the point about the dream space of the margins in the dream-tale of the nation, I want to focus on the protagonist. Because if Chak de is a love-story, then who are its Romeo and Juliet? If Dream India is the Juliet, then it's Romeos are several - Team India, audiences, but most of all it is Kabir Khan, in whose person this role and responsibility are vested. And here lies the Chak de party pooper!

There are posts on the net that reckon that Chak de is a first for its times of the kind Garam Hawa was for its. But is it? Chak de is hailed as 'bold' for portraying a Muslim man in the leading male part. Yes. But under what constraints, one must ask and clarify. For Kabir Khan is no ordinary leading male role in Hindi cinema. Refreshingly, or not, he plays hockey, and not cricket - but then this alludes more to the traditional subaltern base of hockey more generally. Refreshingly, or not, he drives (or rather walks) a scooter, and not a flashy sports car. Refreshingly, or not, he lives in a mohalla, and not in a Hansel and Gretel la-la land. Refreshingly, or not, there is no love-interest that he has or rather is allowed to have other than the love and loyalty for his country. Despite all the opposition and easy suspicions that are thrown his way. His mother is a widow (the only obvious and jarring piece of hamming in the entire film). The third identified Muslim character in the film is the player Gul, who arrives in Delhi surrounded by a humoungous family. No family planning here, the narrative yet again raises our suspicions about the loyalty of this lot to the cause of the nation!

My point is a simple one: under the heart-warming stuff of the film, there lie uncomfortable truths - about the nation's minginess, its meanness, its tight-fistedness. The Indian Muslim, this tight-fistedness holds, must remain an incomplete person, must be denied the regularity of a common life of common aspirations. S/he must not have anything other than the nation to dance to, no other love-song other than the national anthem to hum to. The only permanent thing is the trace of suspicion - symbolised in the crossing out of the word 'gaddaar' (or traitor) as a sign of forgiveness from the national community - crossed out yet visible. Forever tainted and only tainted!

Anyway - that's my gripe.


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