Few social virtues are as demanding as respectability. It is closely linked to the fragile economy of female honor and teaches women not only how to behave but also how and in what ways they should desire, laugh, mourn and commit transgressions. Those who fail to internalize these scripts are often portrayed as aberrations: figures of excess, indecency, and social discomfort.
It is precisely such a figure that takes center stage Ismat Chughtaiis the characteristically succinct short story “Vocation.” Mistakenly labeled a courtesan from the outset, the nameless character is portrayed as a ruthless coquette whose disregard for gendered proprieties and displays of brazen indecency give the self-righteous narrator cause for angry concern. But the decisive reckoning of the story comes when he finds out that the Sethani (wealthy woman) not only comes from an aristocratic line, but is also a distant relative. In this unique moment, Chughtai exposes the moral hypocrisy of a heteropatriarchal order that is quick to condemn women who deny themselves the comforts of respectable femininity yet are deeply invested in the privileges they embody.
Almost eight decades later, Rekha came in mother sister appears as a curious descendant of this line of unruly women. Rekha, played by Madhuri Dixit, is doubly socially precarious: she is a middle-aged widow who has single-handedly raised her two daughters and, more inconveniently, has appeared again and again as an almost witch-like presence in the colony’s sensationalist gossip and as a ready blueprint for women’s shame.
Rekha (Madhuri Dixit) in a scene from Maa Behen. Image source: Abundance Entertainment/Opening Image Films
She loves sleeveless blouses, is unimpressed by the public, and seems to have little fear of using a variety of illegal means to make a living. The film often seems to point out that it’s not just what Rekha does that unsettles society, but also the conspicuous ease with which she does it.
Beyond the self-sabotaging mother
Perhaps even more intriguing is Rekha’s refusal to take on the role of the reserved Bollywood mother. When (or so she believes) she accidentally murders her neighbor Charitra Gupta (Ravi Kishan) in her house, her immediate reaction is not self-denial but a desperate attempt to emotionally manipulate her confused daughters Jaya (Triptii Dimri) and Sushma (Dharna Durga) into acquiescence.
Jaya (Dimri), Rekha (Madhuri Dixit) and Sushma (Durga) in a scene from Maa Behen. Image source: Abundantia Entertainment/Opening Image Films
Whenever they protest, she threatens to implicate them, and in moments of refreshing candor she confesses that she downright loathes the prospect of spending her days embroidering in prison. But Rekha’s self-interest does not contradict her mother’s care. In other cases, she is the one who stands firmly by her daughters when they are shunned for perceived inappropriateness, inappropriate affairs, or public indecency.
You gradually understand that all three women are, above all, social pariahs whose vulnerable existence, not tied to a male head of the family, is in itself a cause for scrutiny, scandal and moral stigmatization. Rekha is banned from neighborhood events and weddings; Their walls are constantly defaced with grotesque drawings of witches or casual questions about their “current rate.” For Rekha, washing away these routine inscriptions of humiliation and standing firm against periodic mob hostility becomes a way of life. However, for the colony, their continued refusal to be ashamed remains a constant thorn in their side.
Rekha (Madhuri Dixit) in a scene from Maa Behen. Image source: Abundance Entertainment/Opening Image Films
The film suffers from an inconsistent script, but is characterized by a retrospective narrative. Rekha’s initial depiction as a femme fatale – with corpses supposedly buried under her marigolds and glimpses of her alleged self-indulgence – foregrounds her as a figure shrouded in unreliability. More than once her daughters make fun of her “youthful” stubbornness: “Tumhara jawani to dhalta hi nehi hain.” Kahin to Rukogi? (Your youth never seems to fade. How far will you go?)’
Society’s gaping misogyny finds a difficult place in the microcosm of the family. Jaya and Sushma, despite their own indiscretions, appear distant, suspicious and annoyed by Rekha’s daring shortcomings. However, as the story progresses, these impressions take on a different texture. Rekha’s life turns out to be the cumulative product of sensationalist revisionism, selective outrage and a deep-seated aversion to bawdy femininity. The rumors surrounding her reveal far more about the colony’s fears than about the woman herself.
Rekha’s life turns out to be the cumulative product of sensationalist revisionism, selective outrage and a deep-seated aversion to bawdy femininity. The rumors surrounding her reveal far more about the colony’s fears than about the woman herself.
What sets Rekha apart in such an environment is not her moral innocence but her refusal to seek absolution. She takes responsibility for her actions and their consequences and refuses to be vilified for feelings, desires, or careless decisions. So we see her giving birth to Sushma, a baby conceived out of wedlock, and refusing to feel remorse about it. For the colony, her stubbornness, and more symbolically, her sleeveless blouse, becomes an extension of that stubbornness; For Rekha, however, it functions as a silent totem of self-control. She neither seeks rehabilitation nor offers the remorse so often required of wayward women. Instead, she lives out her pleasures, excesses, and deviations with a lightness that renders her fundamentally illegible to the moral universe around her.
Laughter in the House of Honor: the politics of inappropriateness
In one of the film’s most revealing moments, Rekha and her two daughters burst into maniacal laughter at the invocation of Ijjat (honor), the militant refrain that had shadowed their lives for years. The word sits awkwardly among them, almost alien in its familiarity, as their loud laughter drains the notion of its solemnity, turning the threat of social ruin into an object of collective ridicule.
Their laughter not only mocks the impending social shame; It exposes the weak foundations on which such meaningless intimidation rests. By refusing to grant honor its usual authority, Rekha, Jaya, and Sushma wrest some agency back from the structures that have long sought to discipline and define them.
Their laughter not only mocks the impending social shame; It exposes the weak foundations on which such meaningless intimidation rests. By refusing to grant honor its usual authority, Rekha, Jaya, and Sushma wrest some agency back from the structures that have long sought to discipline and define them.
From this radical rejection comes perhaps Rekha’s greatest gift. She offers both her daughters and the audience the possibility of a different female legacy. She leaves behind no lessons in virtue or selflessness. Instead, she leaves behind a far worse legacy of a woman who continues to yearn to make mistakes, giggle, and survive on her own terms. At a time when film cultures are increasingly emphasizing redeemable female characters, Rekha remains delightfully and uncomfortably flawed. She is excessive, moody and sometimes selfish; Yet the film refuses to treat these qualities as flaws in need of correction. Your decisions are not translated into decency. They simply exist.
Rekha (Madhuri Dixit) in a scene from Maa Behen. Image source: Abundance Entertainment/Opening Image Films
Maybe that’s really the joy of unrepentant defiance. What opportunities arise when women stop organizing their lives around preserving their honor? What forms of agency become conceivable when remorse is no longer the obligatory accompaniment of female transgression? And what might it mean to take seriously women who, like Rekha, refuse to become cautionary tales?
Ananya is a PhD student at the Center for English Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. Her research examines the figure of the adulteress in South Asian post-globalization literature as a means for thinking about difficult questions of marriage, motherhood, desire, domesticity, and transgression. She is particularly interested in, among other things, the politics of stubbornness and the countless ways in which popular culture reinvents itself.