(“Chudi” includes a tomboyish school girl who struggles with the dance moves her friends choreograph.) Thus, Pathak’s visible presence in her videos brushed against the pitch, timbre, and style of her singing, which together articulated a hyper-feminine pop sensibility. Pathak’s style was mirrored on occasion by a minor character in her music videos. Whether on or off screen, she was (and is) always in men’s clothing, with a short, unfussy haircut and little make-up. But Pathak dressed very differently than other pop stars. The singer-as-pop-star was a common trope in early Indipop music videos ( Kvetko). In songs like “Chudi/Yaad piya ki aane lagi” (“Bangles/I remember my lover,” 1998), “O piya” (“O beloved,” 2001), and “ Rut ne jo bansi bajai” (“The music of the weather,” 2012) she is portrayed as a pop star. Through her gestures and lyrics, she comments on the lovesick teen’s plight and steps in occasionally to comfort or help the young girl, as in her first hit, “Chudi.”įor instance, in “ Maine payal hai chhankai” (“The tinkling of my anklets,” 1999) she cheers on a group putting on a dance and puppet show for a school function. Romantic quests, schoolgirls giddy with love, feminine bonding over make-up and men-these are standard features of Pathak’s videos, as is her own smiling presence as the singer-narrator. I say “unlikely” because Pathak’s apparent tomboyishness seemed at odds with the hyper-femininity and heteronormativity of the narratives in her music videos. Pathak’s “cute” and catchy love songs circulated endlessly on television countdown shows, turning her into an unlikely sensation. The 1990s boom in the music industry was facilitated by the spread of satellite television, which gave non-film singers a new platform and a new set of audiences. Her performances mobilize disparate, even contradictory, signs of gender and sexuality at once, inviting us to examine the relationship between visuality and aurality in constructing queerness.įalguni Pathak’s stardom is typically understood in the context of economic liberalization and the reconfiguration of Indian public culture that followed. A tomboyish singer with a high-pitched voice, Pathak shot to fame with her debut album Yaad Piya Ki Aane Lage in the same year that Fire was released in India. The premium placed on visibility in this formulation is undercut by the “queer” figure of Falguni Pathak.
By rendering homosexuality explicit in its visuals and dialogues, and charting a linear trajectory of queerness-the protagonists move from unhappiness to happiness, denial to acceptance- Fire valorizes “coming out.” In the film, as in liberal strands of LGBT activism, it matters not only that one is out, but that one is seen as such. The violent response of the Hindu right to Deepa Mehta’s Fire (1998), a film portraying a romantic and sexual relationship between two women, prompted widespread debate on the question of censorship generally and of sexual-minority rights in particular. The late 1990s was a pivotal time for activism around queerness in India. To read all of the posts in the forum, click here.
How might we imagine a sonic framework and South Asia from these locations? - Guest Editors Praseeda Gopinath and Monika Mehtaįor the full introduction to the forum, click here.
This series opens up for us the question of other contexts in India where sound, gender, and technology might intersect, but, more broadly, it demands that we consider how sound exists differently in Pakistan, Sri Lanka, the Maldives, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Nepal, and Afghanistan.
Complementing these posts, the accompanying photographs offer glimpses of gendered community formation, homosociality, the pervasiveness of sound technology in India, and the discordant stratified soundscapes of the city. This forum, Gendered Soundscapes of India, offers snapshots of sound at sites of trans/national production, marketing, filmic and musical texts. In the sonic landscape of India, in particular, the way in which we listen and what we hear are often normative, produced within hegemonic discourses of gender, class, caste, region, and sexuality. Our listening practices are discursively constructed.
Co-edited by Praseeda Gopinath and Monika Mehta