A well-intentioned spiritual sequel to Dhadak, Triptii Dimri and Siddhant Chaturvedi‘s filmis buried under a heavy dose of Dharma Productions signature tropes, causing it to stutter and stumble
Even before he entered his dream law school, Neelesh (Siddhant Chaturvedi) was warned by his dean, Ansari (Zakir Hussain) to steer away from student politics that was brewing around on the campus. Neelesh gives him a verbal promise of the same, as he has come there to study and build something for his family.
Even as he leaves the premises, one can see an impassioned student protest building up, of students demanding fellowships. Neelesh steers clear of the same, even though they are clearly fighting for something that will impact him eventually. The thumb from Eklavya has been extracted as guru dakshina even before he starts his education: Neelesh has been asked to mute himself and effectively his agency.
Centred on caste hegemony
Dhadak 2 is debutante director Shazia Iqbal’s first feature film. The film has the odds stacked against it, as it is a ‘spiritual remake’ of the Tamil hit Pariyerum Perumal, directed by Mari Selvaraj. The film won critical acclaim for its depiction of caste hegemony, and struck the perfect balance of showing the darkness of brutal oppression and yet, being hopeful about change.
Also read: Dhadak 2 vs Pariyerum Perumal: Is Bollywood's take on caste any match to Tamil original?
Iqbal stays true to the source material, mostly, and we see Dalit-boy-meets-Brahmin-girl, Vidhi, (Tripti Dimri) as he plays the dhol at a wedding, and she with her softly curled hair dances to its beat and boldly asks for his number. The two end up being in the same class in law school, and as she helps him decode the Latin and English tangent of law school education, and he takes her to some ancient rock site in the city, love blossoms.
While the two are gallivanting around this unnamed fictional small town, Neelesh battles his way to earn an education. He has words like ‘free seat’, ‘quota’ flung at him in a manner of greeting, and he does not reveal his ‘title’ (surname) when asked pointedly in front of the class. Neelesh even hides the identity of his own father — a cross-dressing nautch girl. He also steers clear of all student activism as he promised he would, even when charismatic student leader ‘Shekhar’, tries to woo him with spirited debates and conversions. Shekhar is a hybrid Kanhaiya Kumar-meets-Chandrashekhar-Azad-meets-Rohith Vemula.
Atrocities against Dalit
Vidhi, while woefully fluent in Instagram speak, and throws around words like ‘toxic masculinity’ is absolutely clueless about caste dynamics and its impact in modern day India. She is the one who’s been granted too much ‘freedom’, as she questions the concept of ‘izzat’ and takes a dig at ‘eating noodles’, and ‘using cellphones’. She utters ‘Yeh sab gaon mai hota hoga’ (all these happen in the village) when Neelesh shares the incident of his dog being brutally murdered by upper caste men.
As their love sees the light of day, Neelesh is beaten up, urinated upon and his daily life is made a constant struggle. But this is nothing that he, and by extension the Dalit community, haven’t endured before. An attempt is even made on his life — did we mention there is a noble-hearted assassin on the loose? Yet he soldiers on. He tackles his angst, stoically, dealing with the burden of expectations of his own self, his family and the demands made on him by his heart and all this while coming to terms with his own identity, or the lack of one.
Vidhi could easily be the citizens, or the audience of India personified. Whenever any atrocity is meted out to Neelesh, it happens away from her, she is not just emotionally, but physically away from it all. Rarely a week goes by when some incident of caste-based violence doesn’t hit the news cycle. Yet most of us ignore it, or are ambivalent to it, as long as it doesn’t come to our door. Vidhi tries. She tries to convince him, how all these things don’t matter, as she accepts him.
Too sanitised, too simplistic
Vidhi’s family goes on a rampage to stop this love affair, and Neelesh, after having his back constantly against the wall, hits back. He adheres to his dean’s diktat: ‘Ladne aur marne mein se agar kuch chunna ho, toh ladna’ (If you have to choose between fighting and dying, then choose to fight).
Also read: Sandra Thomas blasts Malayalam film industry: 'They shut down women’s voices'
The climax of the film is stretched and the only thing louder than its tone deafness is the background score. Siddhant Chaturvedi, the brownface notwithstanding, has delivered a good performance. But why cast Siddhant Chaturvedi? Because Bollywood can’t dream of casting a real Dalit actor as a main lead. While Bollywood may adapt hit narratives to convey a message, it won’t put its money where its mouth is.
The film works in parts. It has some clever, tongue-in-cheek dialogues and some dark humour thrown in for good measure. Concepts like ‘honour’, ‘gender roles’, societal divide are all ticked off, almost like a grocery list. But it all feels too sanitised, simplistic and is too Dharma coded.
After the first Dhadak — a remake of the groundbreaking Marathi hit Sairat — was so far removed from reality, one would have hoped Dharma would not attempt another remake. But maybe Dhadak 2 is what most people can digest. Or maybe this is what one can make in the current heavily censored times. One can always watch or rewatch Pariyerum Perumal instead.
