Writer and director Rajesh Rajamani’s short film The Discreet Charm of the Savarnas follows two men and one woman of dominant caste on the journey to find the “perfect” Dalit actor. In the process, Rajamani peels apart the ignorance and myopia of the liberal, progressive, ‘woke’ Brahmin-Savarna.
In this conversation, the director, who also writes for HuffPost India, talks about how he made the film, how he uses art and music in it, and the kind of work he’d like to do as a filmmaker.
The film is satirical and a very funny take on upper caste thoughts and actions that in the real world are very dehumanising. How did you decide on making the film a comedy?
I write a web-comic strip called ‘Inedible India’ where I have already used satire as a tool to critique on caste, gender and other social inequalities. So in a way, I was a little familiar with how I could mix humour and social commentary. And I think satire can be more effective and also reach wider places than regular serious criticism.
Also, Indian cinema has made caste synonymous with dalits. And focusses only on manual scavenging deaths, honour killings or sexual violence on marginalised women. And these movies tend to be too serious, dull, depressing and gloomy. So we thought, why can’t we just do the exact opposite of all this. We wanted to turn the gaze on those upholding the caste structure – the Brahmin-Savarnas. And we also tried to keep the film very fun and colourful with lively music, but at the same time make a very important social commentary.
What was the highlight of working on the film for you?
Even though another short film of mine called ‘Lovers in the afternoon’ released last year, The Discreet Charm of the Savarnas was technically the first film I had shot. Because I was a beginner, it took me a lot of time to find the right actors or technicians and complete the film. And because the film was made on a very modest budget, the challenges only multiplied. But in spite of all these issues, at no point, I wanted to compromise or dilute the politics of the film. And thankfully, every cast and crew member agreed to the original script as it was and we were able to stick to it. That was the most satisfying part of making this film.
You capture hilariously and accurately the sensibility, the aesthetic and the art of the liberal savarna. There are so many nods: from the books we choose to read and talk about, the posters we frame on our walls, the poetry we’ll quote. In films, we rarely see these used to consciously mark the oblivious nature of savarnas. How and why did you decide on these particular markers?
I think these markers exist in almost all mainstream films. But we don’t necessarily notice it because we are conditioned to process these social and political markers as aesthetics. However, when a Bahujan household is captured in cinema, we tend to overemphasize the social markers that can be observed there.
I think that holds the same for my film as well. Whether the viewer sees them as social markers or as aesthetics might be a reflection of their own politics. The film only captures things as they are. The magnification is in the eyes of the viewer.
The music of the film is also an active part of the narrative. What did you tell Imphal Talkies while figuring out the music for the film?
We almost looked around for 6 months to find the right music composer for the film. In fact, except AR Rahman or Ilaiyaraaja, we tried contacting everyone. But nothing particularly worked out. During this period, a friend introduced me to the music of Imphal Talkies and as soon as I listened to their songs, I was super sure that I should be collaborating with them
The music of Chingangbam Akhu, the band head of Imphal Talkies ranges from very soulful to very lively and high-spirited fun songs. But in all of their work, there is a strong political commentary running through. So it almost felt like the film and music of Imphal Talkies’ were meant to be soulmates. Amusingly, I didn’t have to brief Akhu much. I broadly told him over a few mails about the places the film can have music and the accompanying mood. I think he understood the film very accurately and got back with some brilliant songs and background score.
In your conversation with Sumeet Samos, you talk about how nobody discusses who should tell the Savarna story or the Brahmin story, a debate that often happens over DBA stories, because the assumption is that the savarna experience is universal. In this context, what does being a creative person mean to you? What is the space you think of as yours in the world of film and media?
I think the human experience is very universal. Whether it is happiness, grief, affection, hatred or joy, it is all the same. Which is why we are able to connect emotionally with Japanese or Spanish cinema even though we are very far from them and our cultures and languages are so vastly different. So technically, when documenting the lives of people, cinema should be humanising everyone alike and striving for this universality. Unfortunately, our cinema either humanises or glorifies the already privileged. And dehumanises, caricatures or invisibilises the rest. My effort as a filmmaker is only to go back to the fundamental purpose of any art, which is to universalise all human experiences.
Another observation you and Sumeet made were the ways in which upper caste people assimilate media that critiques us and mutate language to overcome this criticism. My liking this film could very well just add to my own validation of my “progressive” nature without truly having to introspect on how I perform caste in my life. So the well-intentioned savarna is always a double edged sword. Is there any escaping the savarna gaze? Are there ways the upper caste can meaningfully engage with critiques of their role in upholding caste and its power structures?
The conservative Brahmin-Savarna is always easy to deal with, because by their very existence they are exposing their bigotry. But the role of the liberal Brahmin-Savarna in upholding the caste structure is a much more complex one. And it isn’t easy to critique them. As a filmmaker, one can only hold a mirror to the caste society and give it a chance to see itself. Whether the upholders of the caste structure want to reflect, introspect and change themselves is only in their own hands.
You’ve said you make your work for a Bahujan audience. What is the kind of work you’d like to keep doing? What would you see as successful work?
As a filmmaker, you are naturally greedy and literally want the film to be viewed by every living human. But what I meant there about the Bahujan audience is, I want my films to be watched and liked by them. If I make a film that travels to film festivals and is watched by the most elite of the audience but if it fails to reach or connect with the working class Bahujans of the society, then that can’t be a good thing. So even though I want the films to be watched by everyone, I do hope it never fails to connect with the ‘real common man or woman’.