Roja holds a special place in my life as a cinephile. Growing up in Mumbai as a Tamilian, my movie universes were always mutually exclusive, it was always Kamal / Rajini at home and Amitabh outside. Mani Ratnam was celebrated thanks to Sunday Afternoon Doordarshan viewings of Mouna Raagam, Anjali and Nayakan. But even with the national acclaim, he was more familiar to my Madrasi cousins that to my classmates from Mumbai. All that changed when Roja released in August 1992 and became India’s first pan-Indian hit.
For the first time my north and south cultural universes collided. It was a unique story never before told (Kashmiri Separatism, a software engineer cryptologist as the hero, the word Jehad – Roja had a lot of firsts in Indian Cinema), Mani Ratnam’s superior craft, the movie’s nationalistic fervor, its topical subject and AR Rahman bursting on to the national consciousness all played a part in the movie’s lasting impact across India. It represented the first of Mani Ratnam’s pan-Indian political trilogy movies (the others being Bombay and Dil Se). For the few who haven’t seen or heard of the movie, the plot is a 20th century adaptation of the Satyavan Savitri myth. Set in Kashmir at the beginning of the separatist movement (and based on a true story), a wife fights to get her software engineer husband back from the people who kidnapped him.
I happened to watch the movie nearly 28 years later. I thought the movie would have aged badly. But despite some convenient commercial compromises the movie is a classic which showcases all of Mani Ratnam’s talents that we have come to love, admire and respect.
The movie is very strongly feminist. I didn’t realize it back in 1992 (shame on me, the title said Roja), but Roja (played by Madhoo) is among Mani Ratnam’s strongest woman characters. She is very clear on what she wants and will go to any ends to achieve it. Roja is not shy or timid in her actions or her thoughts. She is single-minded and determined to succeed at any cost in her attempt to free her husband. She talks to policemen, army colonels, ministers and even the dreaded terrorist, Waseem Khan (played by Shiv Rindani), to secure her husband’s release. She doesn’t let her lack of sophistication, or her lack of knowledge of Hindi or English come in the way. She isn’t afraid to manipulate or emotionally blackmail people in power for her wants and needs (the “beti” scene with the minister is the one I love). She doesn’t need any male guardian angel or savior to help her. Whatever she does and achieves is entirely on her own. She is entirely selfish in her motives and actions. The scene that blew my mind was the one where she looks at her husband’s sweater after he has been kidnapped and recalls a physically intimate moment with him. She misses her husband not out of any sense of loyalty or “pativrata-ness”, she misses him as much physically as she does emotionally. For a film maker to show that a woman could be driven by “base” desires is considered courageous in 2020, for Mani Ratnam to conceive of this scene in 1992 is all the more impressive.
The male protagonist – Rishi played by Arvind Swami) who (although simplistic) probably ranks among Mani Ratnam’s most liked heroes. His profession (a computer engineer cryptologist), his progressive views, the circumstances that lead to him marrying Roja were all very fresh back then. I like Rishi a lot because he says sorry multiple times when he accidentally tears Roja’s blouse, he sincerely mourns the death of Liyakat’s (played by Pankaj Kapur) younger brother (a budding future separatist) when he attempts to cross the Indian border to get military training, he is beaten and thrashed by the terrorists in his attempt to escape and what finally reunites him with his wife is an act of humanity by Liyakat (played by an able Pankaj Kapur), the terrorist and not his own heroism. For all of these qualities, I chose to ignore the jingoism in Rishi, which hasn’t aged all that well over the years.
The supporting cast was terrific. Normally, I am not a big fan of “comedy tracks” and Achu Maharaj’s (played by Janakaraj) presence seems too convenient. Nonetheless it made Roja’s success more believable as she needed someone to know Hindi to help her out with officials and the North Indian bureaucracy. I loved the scene when Colonel Rayappa (played by a fantastic Nassar) comes to congratulate Roja on her husband’s impending release in exchange for the Indian Government releasing the dreaded terrorist Waseem Khan. What seems like a happy moment for Roja turns into something very uncomfortable for her when Nassar reminds Roja of the soldiers who have sacrificed their lives in capturing Waseem Khan and how terrible the consequences of releasing him could be. Mani Ratnam’s forte is to infuse the most banal or seeming inconsequential of scenes with electricity. With this scene, he was able to take us, the audience, out of the trials and tribulations of Roja’s story and put in perspective the larger political picture without prescribing which side we should choose. All it said was that Roja and Rayappa both had equally justifiable perspectives.
There were other aspects of the movie which have been much celebrated – the music, the songs moving the narrative forward, the cinematography, etc. These paved the way for much of the progress we see in Indian Cinema technically to this day. I will not say anything here that hasn’t already been said.
The rabble-rousing patriotism was a little problematic, although that is what everyone loved back in 1992. Liyakat’s change of heart, Rishi’s naïve speech about why terrorism and Pakistan are bad was a little abrupt and convenient. Liyakat studying in Coimbatore enabling him to speak Tamil was laughable as were Janakaraj and Rayappa’s rather convenient presence to inject Tamilian familiarity in unknown and hostile surroundings for Roja (this has been a problem in other Tamil and Mani Ratnam movies; Kaatru Veliyidai comes to mind – everyone working at a hospital in Kashmir can speak Tamil). Waseem Khan was very one note and the actor who played him (Shiva Rindani) wasn’t very good.
But none of this takes away from a movie which is as fresh in 2020 as it was in 1992. It wasn’t the first great Indian movie nor was it the last. I simply saw it when I was old enough to be able to appreciate better how good cinema could be when some effort and thought were put into presenting a good story on screen. Above all, I could talk to my neighbourhood bhelpuri wallah and my paati in Madras about something that I was sure both of them had enjoyed.