India’s Daughter: Rape is okay in fiction, not as a fact?

In 2009, I had the opportunity to watch a documentary called Rape Compounded. Created by Lovleen Thadani, this hour-long film had snippets from lives of rape survivors juxtaposed, somewhat jarringly, with bites from rape convicts. A father, who was in jail for raping his six-year-old child, was asked how he could do something of this sort - rape his own daughter? The answer sent a shiver down my spine: "Meri jhaadi ka phal main nahi khaaunga toh kaun khaayega? (If I don't consume the fruits of my own shrub, who else will?)". The December 16, 2012 Delhi gangrape was yet to jolt the country out of its complacency-induced stupor. Back then, that convict's views were among the most disturbing that had been documented in that film. 

Six years down the line, we have a strong contender to that throne of depravity. In British filmmaker Leslee Udwin’s documentary, India’s Daughter, the Delhi gangrape convict Mukesh Singh justifies his act of raping the girl on that night. Singh speaks in a hard, cold, matter-of-fact tone, scary enough to leave one thoroughly agape, yet not quite so. For in the outrage that the rapist’s point of view has generated all over the country, there’s something primal that is being missed. It is the rapist’s point of view. And convicted though he is, and speaking from within the confines of his Tihar jail cell he might be, in no way is offering him a platform to speak his mind a crime. And as of now, the documentary, which was supposed to have been aired on an Indian TV channel on March 8, International Women’s Day, has been banned by order of the government.

Udwin’s fault here doesn’t lie in making a documentary based on hard facts. Her fault is in her belief in her audience. Her fault is in the fact that after seeing the countrywide outrage in the people of Delhi braving water cannons on a freezing December evening, she believed that maybe India was ready to usher in a change. Her fault was in the fact that she chose to pitch her work in a society in which many share the views of the Singh she expected to be loathed after listening to his words. Her fault was in overlooking that tiny trait that we Indians are famously infamous for – hypocrisy.

Social media went on a scandal-crying spree once Mukesh Singh’s views reached the public. Many people screamed shame at the fact that a foreign filmmaker was allowed to get into Tihar jail and interview Singh for 16 hours, over a period of some three days. Following the immense backlash from several sections of the society, the filmmaker left the country three days before the film was to hit the TV screens in India... which, thanks to the government, it no longer will.

Banning, as far as the Indian government is concerned, seems the quick-fix, the one glove-fits-all solution to everything objectionable (or not; not, mostly) under the sun. However, there’s something here that baffles one no end in this hue and cry over the documentary.

Right after the Delhi gangrape snowballed into an un-ignorable issue, many filmmakers woke up, sniffed the scenario, and decided to dedicate, announce and make films on the story. Back then, all of those films, ranging from inane to bizarre, had been passed by the Censor Board, and by extension, the government, who seemed to have no problem with any of them. Not having a problem with a piece of art is not the problem here. The problem is that fact called selective cognition that the Indian government has been displaying in this case. They don’t have a problem when a film is a film – a fictionalised version of facts, or so the filmmakers of those Delhi gangrape-based films claimed. There was always a disclaimer to be taken into account before such a film was watched by someone: "Based on a true story".

Now, this disclaimer, when reduced to just the "true story", the facts, the psyche of the rapist, poses a problem for many in power because, well, it is the truth being served here, sans a cautionary tagline. The truth, the ban-ners feel, will "offend people". Well, no matter what you do, something or the other is bound to offend someone or the other. If art is expected to kow-tow to this easily-hurt tetchy-touchy section of the society, then art will cease to exist.

And just in case the government thought that banning an Indian channel from airing the documentary will help retain the untainted image of the country in the eyes of the entire world, there’s something else that needs to be taken into account. The BBC will air the documentary, come what may. And, as is quite understandable, the entire world will tune in to watch the documentary, if they wish to – ban, or no ban.