{"id":8203,"date":"2023-11-22T11:29:38","date_gmt":"2023-11-22T05:59:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/learningandcreativity.com\/silhouette\/?p=8203"},"modified":"2023-11-22T11:29:38","modified_gmt":"2023-11-22T05:59:38","slug":"naagin-no-longer-naagin-the-evolution-of-indias-naagin-encapsulated","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/learningandcreativity.com\/silhouette\/naagin-no-longer-naagin-the-evolution-of-indias-naagin-encapsulated\/","title":{"rendered":"Naagin… No Longer Naagin? The Evolution of India\u2019s Naagin Encapsulated"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Vyjayanthimala

Vyjayanthimala as Mala in Nagin<\/em> (1954)<\/p><\/div>\n

Infamously \u2013 though partly true \u2013 India is called the land of snakes and snake-charmers. Despite the developments the country has garnered in its struggles to become an internationally-reputed leader, this opinion still lingers in popular imaginations of the West and far East. Even though this opinion, indeed, manifests peoples\u2019 superficial understandings of India, I consider this undermining stance to be perhaps half-true, if not the absolute truth. Thanks to India\u2019s humongous mythology \u2013 and its implacable reliance over animalistic iconography \u2013 Indians are flanked by tales of creatures, monsters, animals, and anything nonhuman and paranormal. It\u2019s not gothic, but flavoured by orientalist darkness and anonymity. This well-applies to the other-worldly Nagas, ruled by V\u00e4suki (Lord Shiva\u2019s snake), and their many doctored, but popular, media reproductions that have been igniting the curiosity of India in bizarre ways.[i]<\/a><\/p>\n

Like any other culture, India\u2019s mainstream knowledge about its own mythology, its own peoples, traditions, etc. grew out of cinema, or rather by Dadasaheb Phalke\u2019s nationalist, anticolonial, determination to depict his country in(via) Indian ways, backdrops, and cinematography \u2013 beginning with Raja Harishchandra<\/em> (1913). Cinema was born, but with Phalke, a chaotic and curious interest in India\u2019s sociocultural mixtapes (including folklores, literatures, religions, symbolisms, iconography, societies, and other traditional yack-yack) was triggered. The unknown seemed like a prosperous market for film-consumption, and since the mythology of the Nagas was at-once limited and unpopular, it became a subject of filmic representation. Simple tales of shape-shifting Nagas were translated into revenge stories and the Naag\/Naagin soon became Bombay entertainment industry\u2019s newest embodiments of separated lovers. This was not the end: the industry continued exploiting their narratives, reducing the Naagin to another random object of insatiable gratification, before damaging the aesthetics of the Nagas\u2019 mature mythology by re-casting the Naagin in comical roles. I am, thus, inclined to encapsulate the Naagin\u2019s journeys from graceful risings to a sudden fall from grace, which becomes the subject of my critical inquiry here.<\/p>\n

India\u2019s debutante Naagin was Vyjayanthimala who helped introduce the blueprint of the Nagas\u2019 iconography onto mainstream cinema through Nandlal Jaswantlal\u2019s Nagin<\/em> (1954). Typically a love-story, Nagin<\/em> was<\/em> dressed as a revenge saga \u2013 following the formulaic backdrop of classic romantic precursors like Romeo & Juliet<\/em> or Rowland Torre & Emmott Sydall \u2013 <\/em>based upon the age-old rivalry between two tribal clans, the Ragis and the Nagis, but without any identifiable characteristics that would later define the contemporary Naagin genres. Some instances of paranormality do occur, however, within the film \u2013 like the Ragis\u2019 ancestral abilities to control snakes (they are renowned snake-charmers) or the scene where a worshipped snake sucks out poison from Mala\u2019s feet \u2013 but most of Nagin<\/em>\u2019s leitmotifs are not overtly-represented, but perhaps stored for future use in the late 70s and 80s (when the Naagin-fever abruptly developed and reached the pinnacles of popularity). There is no reptilian transfiguration, no hedonistic\/egoistic Aghori[ii]<\/a>, no revenge-seeking Naagin, no Naag (surprisingly!), and no external interference from subliminal humans. Indeed, the Nagi\/Ragi rivalry paves the way for the construction of the popular onscreen enmity between Naagins and Saperas, but Nagin<\/em> convolutes it by making the Naagin fall in love with the Sapera. As a member of the Nagis (the snake-worshipping tribe), Mala\u2019s romance with Sanatan (a chief member of the Ragis\u2019 clan) was forbidden, actually condemned, yet Nagin<\/em> concludes happily… following the quintessential formula of Bollywood\u2019s \u201chappy endings\u201d. Despite not directly featuring any key aspects of the Naagin genre, Jaswantlal\u2019s Nagin<\/em> laid the foundation for Naagin stories. Without any essential tropes, it managed to ignite popular imaginations for the concoction of the new Naagin, which was nothing like the innocent, vibrant Mala… what was to come was quite ominous, feminist, monstrous, and enigmatic.<\/p>\n

\"Ek

Madhubala in Ek pardesi mera dil le gaya<\/em> from Phagun<\/em> (1958)<\/p><\/div>\n

Nonetheless, before the outbreak of the Naagin-fever could occur, it was felt that Vyjayanthimala (in her pre-Naagin avatar) couldn\u2019t excite the curiosity of other contemporary filmmakers, who might have, otherwise, wanted to reprise the genre. What did reprise, however, was the role of the tribal woman (against another tribal background), again donned by Vyjayanthimala, in the 1958 paranormal melodrama, Bimal Roy\u2019s Madhumati<\/em>; along with the idiosyncratic pungi-music \u2013 originally performed by Kalyanji Virji Shah and Ravi Shankar Sharma for Nagin <\/em>\u2013 that defined the Naagin genre in unprecedented ways at a later time-scape. Bibhuti Mitra\u2019s Phagun<\/em> (1958), for instance, could be deemed one of the earliest examples of films that deployed the pungi-music for a hit score, Ek pardesi mera dil le gaya<\/em>. I believe that this fanciful incorporation of the pungi-music by filmic narratives (beyond the Naagin genre) helped (if not paved the way) sustain the soul of the genre, and encouraged the later generation of directors to redefine the genre and immortalise the Naagin with an unabashed character and distinct vividness and authenticity. It\u2019s delightful to watch the smooth jugalbandi<\/em> between the music and the filmic language, as Mitra ensures that the pungi\u2019s tunes are not sequestered amidst the voices of Bhosle and Rafi. The presence of the snake-charmer with the pungi, manoeuvring Madhubala\u2019s scintillating, snake-like moves, attract attention and potentially remind audiences of Sanatan\u2019s calming tunes (also produced through the pungi) that seduced Mala in Mann dole mera tann dole<\/em>. In early Hindustani Cinema, it\u2019s said, music was the determining factor \u2013 if a film\u2019s music was appreciated, box-office success and intertextuality was positively predicted (if not guaranteed). We see that happening in Phagun<\/em> via the roadmaps constructed by Nagin<\/em>, and expect some more.<\/p>\n

…and so it happened, albeit unexpectedly. Three movies, produced within fifteen years, proved quite monumental for the reformation and evolution of the Naagin genre, the effects of which persist even today, both within the mediascape and the registered vocabulary of peoples. These movies \u2013 Rajkumar Kohli\u2019s Nagin<\/em> (1976), Harmesh Malhotra\u2019s Nagina<\/em> (1986), and K. R. Reddy\u2019s Sheshnaag<\/em> (1990) \u2013 introduced the formula for the archetypal Naagin story. Reintroducing the popular pungi-music, these movies could be deemed clever conglomerations of the idiosyncrasies of a Naagin\/mythological narrative. Perhaps deriving inspiration from Jaswantlal\u2019s invention, this triumvirate introduced (1) the Aghori-as-antagonist, (2) visibly apparent reptilian transfigurations, (3) a more solidified myth of the Naag\/Naagin affection, (4) the symbolism of the Naag-Mani[iii]<\/a>, (5) and the Naagin, more important, as a graphic reflection of the monstrous feminine<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\"naagin

Another instance of the incorporation of the pungi-music: from R. Bhattacharya\u2019s Suhaag Raat<\/em> (1968) \u2013 the iconic dance-off between Madhumati, (here clad as the cobra-girl) and Laxmi Chhaya<\/p><\/div>\n

Moreover, this triumvirate intensifies the element of revenge, which, conversely, bestows the Naagin with a fierce personality that passes a verisimilitude to Barbara Creed\u2019s (1993) idea of the castrating woman\/mother… an image that India hadn\u2019t witnessed before, and which \u2013 elsewhere \u2013 is deemed an epitome of antipatriarchal eruption of volcanic magnitude. Unconventional, unafraid tropes like the vagina dentata<\/em> (toothed vagina), Draupadi\u2019s laughter[iv]<\/a>, or the new phenomenon of \u2018woman-as-insect\u2019[v]<\/a>, are defined as ravaging threats to patriarchal social orders. Monstrous women, embodying these ideas and tropes, are perceived as lethal to the societies of men. It\u2019s patent because the antagonists in such narratives (that are generally seen as woman-centric) are (evil) men. We see that happening in Naagin stories, where the Aghori is often positioned under the antagonistic light; moreover, in othered imaginations, the image of the Vish-Kanya<\/em> (the poison damsel) could be seen as another Indian construction of the monstrous feminine<\/em>, making its onscreen debut via Kidar Sharma\u2019s Vish-Kanya<\/em> (1943).<\/p>\n

\"nagin

(In the collage from upper-left to lower-right): Rekha in Sheshnaag<\/em> (1990); Reena Roy in Nagin<\/em> (1976); Manisha Koirala in Jaani Dushman<\/em> (2002); and Sridevi in Nagina<\/em> (1986) (Right): A photographic shot of Sadhana\u00a0Bose from Vish-Kanya<\/em> (1943)<\/p><\/div>\n

With Jaani Dushman<\/em> (2002), however, the feminist overtones of the Naagin began eroding away. We witnessed the emergence of the hyper-masculine Naag (played by Armaan Kohli) against the melancholic and submissive Naagin (Manisha Koirala), who was later converted into a model of hyper-sexuality… the weird exhibit for the absconding male gaze. The sociocultural situation of the Naagin drifted away from its mythology, as the former lost its spiritual\/aesthetic significance. Jennifer Lynch\u2019s Hisss<\/em> (2010) \u2013 the Mallika Sherawat-starrer \u2013 introduces this downfall. Drawing immense influences from countless traditions of Bollywood\u2019s Naagin genre, Hisss<\/em>, nevertheless, mis-manages the narrative and limits the Naagin figure to obscurity, obscenity, and obtrusions. Indeed, Hisss<\/em> is realistic to project the Naagin in naked (or semi-naked) situations (after all, Naagins are actually<\/em> snakes), but that reason is overshadowed by the needless nakedness of the Naagin. Primarily an Indian film, set in India, and produced for the peoples of India, Lynch\u2019s Hisss<\/em> concentrates over its bold graphics and irrigates the Naagin with brawn and unwanted sex appeal, which becomes the only highlights in the film. Additionally, the cultural vocabulary of Indians about Mallika Sherawat \u2013 known as a sex symbol \u2013 isn\u2019t the most esteemed; not only were Indian audiences unsurprised on watching Sherawat in the role of an avenging Naagin, but also could not look beyond the skin of Sherawat.<\/p>\n

\"The

The Poster of Lynch\u2019s Hisss (2010)<\/p><\/div>\n

I\u2019m not trying to speak as a chauvinist, but as a cultural critic. Lynch\u2019s \u2018bolder\u2019 Naagin could be structured, indeed, as a potent symbol of the Self, and her nakedness is never the problem. It\u2019s the problematic society of the movie\u2019s consumer. Hisss<\/em> obliviates India\u2019s conservatism, and holding the director\u2019s baton from an ivory tower, Lynch designs Sherawat in overtly-sexualised fashions. The film overlooks two central aspects: (1) India\u2019s general biases about feminism, womanism, and liberation; and (2) the cloaked mythologies of Naagins, which hardly requires the presence of sexism. These aspects are, yet again, overlooked by Ekta Kapoor in her seasonal Naagin<\/em> shows. Although extremely popular amongst the masses, Ekta Kapoor\u2019s Naagin<\/em> series follows the same guidelines as Lynch\u2019s Hisss<\/em>, with the only exception of nudity. Of course, the medium of Indian television would not appreciate that! There are sexualised Naagins, unnecessary histrionics (the staple of Indian TV), and the solidification of a newfound development in Naagin stories (which, apparently, originates via Sridevi\u2019s Nagina<\/em>) \u2013 the marriage between Naagins and humans. Mythologically complexed, the entertainment industry in Bombay (films and television) breeds over reductions and concoctions that might retain their palpability for further consumption, and increase their chances for attracting more capital, TRP, and some television academy awards. Kapoor\u2019s Naagin<\/em>, nevertheless, attempts to sustain its roots with topical influences of spirituality and mythology, albeit briefly. Its most-recent idea of relocating the Naagin as-superhero (Naagin 6<\/em>, 2022) bears fantastic perspectives and inspiring messages; however, it\u2019s still absurd that despite reflecting brave feminist connotations, the Naagin<\/em> series feels the need for sexism, scant clothing, and the Naagin\u2019s frequent returns to femininities.<\/p>\n

\"Naagin

The Poster of Naagin 3<\/em> (2018-2019): starring Surbhi Jyoti, Karishma Tanna, & Anita Hassanandani<\/p><\/div>\n

The televised representation of the Naagin encouraged the polysemic interpretation of both the genre and character, catapulting the Naagin to imply different things\/ideas to different peoples. Not only these mainstream narratives strengthened the development of the genre \u2013 in the likes of Harmesh Malhotra\u2019s Nigahen: Nagina Part II<\/em> (1989), Mohanji Prasad\u2019s Nache Nagin Gali Gali<\/em> (1989), Ramkumar Bohra\u2019s Naag Nagin<\/em> (1990), Jag Mundhra\u2019s Vishkanya<\/em> (1991), Mohan T. Gehani\u2019s Nagin aur Lootere<\/em> (1992), and Kodi Ramakrishna\u2019s Devi<\/em> (1999) \u2013 but also allowed the Naagin an entry within mainstream, and local, terminology. The Naagin has finally transformed into a property of the public and popular imaginations. These developments, however, have not been in the Naagin\u2019s favour, altogether. I\u2019m not sure if it\u2019s unfortunate or metaphorical or socialist, but the reduction of the Naagin to the dimensions of the comic seems bizarre and unwell… insulting. It seems that the Naagin-figure (that was once monstrous and feminist) cannot serve well the inputs of comedy, and it\u2019s detrimental to the audience\u2019s understanding of this woman\/monster. Where does the Naagin really<\/em> belong? in the safeguarded land of Nagalok, in contemporary songs\/slangs, in the womb of the othered woman, in the male gaze… where exactly? Contemporary comedy shows like Ichha\u2018pyaari\u2019 Naagin<\/em> (2016-2017) or peppy songs like Anmol Malik\u2019s \u2018Nagin Dance\u2019 (2013) or Astha Gill and Akasa\u2019s \u2018Naagin Gin Gin\u2019 (2019) have unbuttoned the seriousness\/austerity that traditionally belonged to the Naagin genre. People nowadays use \u2018Naagin\u2019 as a cuss word, or a modern idiom to imply deceit or manipulation. India dances to the pungi-music, restoring the hook steps of Malik\u2019s \u2018Nagin Dance\u2019 in weddings, birthdays, clubs, gyms, tea-stalls, schools, you name it: India would have definitely danced there, but without realising what Naagin has long symbolised.<\/p>\n

\"Ichhapyaari

Priyal Gor from Ichhapyaari Naagin<\/em> (2006)<\/p><\/div>\n

The Nagas have immortalised purity, innocence, sacrifice, friendship, loyalty \u2013 an amalgam of the most-winsome of human qualities. They are a treasured entity in Indian mythology, and are still worshipped in several parts of India. Naag-Panchami<\/em> is celebrated as a dedication to the Nagas, and so India remembers these beloved beings and admires them from a religious distance. Inside the attic, it dances aimlessly to the Naagin music popularised by contemporary singers; however, the mythological history of the Nagas remains far above this popular balderdash. The populist death of the Nagas embodies its renaissance, as that triggers hidden information about the Nagas\u2019 genesis: we often produce pictures based on the Naag\/Naagin angles, and talk about them in the language of humanity, without understanding the background of these legends. Certainly, several writers, directors\/producers, academics, and the religious pundits might bear cognisance to these backdrops, but not the most of India. The funny thing about mythology is its arbitrariness. It can be twisted, remodelled, deleted, and broken… and this instigates the rise of multiple versions of the same legend. The same happens with the story of the Nagas; but the most-popular remains fixated.<\/p>\n

\"Golmaal

Vrajesh Hirjee enacting a Naagin and its movements in Rohit Shetty\u2019s Golmaal: Fun Unlimited<\/em> (2006)<\/p><\/div>\n

I heard this story from my mother. She spoke of Prajapati<\/em> Daksha (one of the 16 manasputra<\/em> of Lord Brahma), and two of his daughters, Vinata and Kadru, who were both married off to the Vedic sage, Kashyapa. Where the former gave birth to Aruna and Garuda (a popular enemy of the Nagas), Kadru became the mother of a thousand naga-sons \u2013 the most prominent being Sheshnaag, V\u00e4suki, and Takshaka (another King of Nagas, like V\u00e4suki) \u2013 who occupied the famous Patala<\/em>\/Nagalok<\/em> in fear of Garuda. Since the oldest Naags (in the likes of Sheshnaag or V\u00e4suki) were extremely powerful and blessed by the trimurti <\/em>(the triple deity of supreme divinity in Hinduism comprising Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma), the Nagas were upheld as protectors of the Earth. Moreover, Nagalok<\/em> is associated with material wealth, jewellery, and magic, thus corresponding with the cultural symbolism of Nagas as forces of rejuvenation and fertility. Therefore, today in modern India, Nagas are worshipped not only as protectors of the home, but also as catalysts of fortune and fertility. Indeed, they are revered for material prosperity, but also analysed as compassionate and humane. The character of Rekha as a sacrificing Naagin (in Sheshnaag<\/em>, 1990) could be exemplified as an archetype of the changing paradigms about popular definitions of Naag\/Naagin(s).<\/p>\n

I think another reason why the concept of the Naag\/Naagin became popular is their fear-inducing attraction. Mother echoes a thinker (whose name I can\u2019t recall) when she mentions: \u201cPeople are generally attracted to the ominously unknown, <\/em>the fantastically scary<\/em>.\u201d Yes, it happens with us: we don\u2019t want to watch The Shining <\/em>or The Exorcist<\/em>, but we still watch it. It is this general fascination with horror that enabled the introduction of the Naagin genre onto the Indian big-screen, ultimately turning out as one of the highest grossers of any year. But where earlier productions represented the Naagin\u2019s inherent fires, recent productions have compromised the Naagin\u2019s shakti<\/em> with dry histrionics, banality, and unnecessary sexism. Having said that, the historical evolution of the Naagin is laudable and worthy of appreciation. From Vyjayanthimala to Vrajesh Hirjee, India has tasted various flavours of the Naagin. I\u2019m not sure what\u2019s going to be the future of the Naagin, but whatever comes next, the Naagin would find a way towards liberation and self-consciousness. As a symbol and cultural icon, the Naagin knows.<\/p>\n

Man dole mera tan dole<\/strong><\/em> (Nagin<\/em>, 1954) Hemant Kumar \/ Rajinder Krishan \/ Lata Mangeshkar<\/span><\/p>\n