“We Write. We Rise” – Voices from Within by Our Writers
Hold the Mustard Oil:
Bengali Representation in Hindi Films Needs a Hard Reset
I can never fathom why must (almost) every screen Bengali character in a Hindi film sound like a parody of their school PT teacher with this oddly Bengali-coded English, Some do speak like that - sure. But many, many, many don’t. Have you heard Satyajit Ray, Victor Banerjee to Aparna Sen, Moon Moon Sen and her daughters Raima and Riya, Konkona Sen and Tilottama Shome? I can go on – none of them lean into parody.
And yet, in film after film, Bengali identity is reduced to a handful of lazy tokens? The way we speak of course, the fish and mustard oil, the roshogolla, the red-bordered saree, a smoking–drinking “liberated” woman – like we’re ticking off of a character bingo sheet.
I’ve been holding my breath about Bengali representation for a while now – since 2002 possibly, but a recent release, with yet another version of “liberated” wine-chugging -Bengali women – pushed me over the edge.
I couldn’t even tell which Calcutta it was supposed to be. Which time period. The city was wallpaper – albeit a pretty one (the DoP did a fabulous job) – with no texture, no soundscape, no soul, no zeitgeist. There was a fish-buying situation where I missed that familiar rhythm – of the uncle choosing fish with the focus of a brain surgeon, comparing freshness, weight, price. Whether you're heading from a round of golf at The Tolly or coming from the local chai tapri – the fish market is a social equaliser on Sundays. That could have turned the trope on its head, giving it cultural specificity.
Another kind-of-recent film had the clunkiest Tagore moment – lazy, lowest of low-hanging fruit. Non-bengalis cackled of course. But that same beat could have been way more 2020s-coded - chuckle-worthy, fresh, sharp - nuanced after a mainstream fashion. There’s great set design. Thoughtful production. Actors who shine. But that little bit extra attention, cultural specificity – ergo respect? Much needed. Sorely missing. To be fair, that standout Durga Pujo dance sequence from the same film is epic. Gorgeous. Powerful. Resplendent. Bengali masculinity standing tall, proud, expressive. No complaints there. (IYKYK 😊)
Bengalis laid the foundation of the film industry for goodness sakes! But today we are so often more prop than people.
I would be delighted to see the man of the house make Sunday lunch – driving the cook (his sous-chef for the afternoon) up the wall, leaving the kitchen looking like a war zone. (My Baba did that 😊) A fresh dimension, successfully added. Chuckle from the audience guaranteed. A few moist eyes too.
Or a husband serving cheffy breakfast in bed on their anniversary. Or a woman who works because she wants to – not because she has to – someone who commands the room without raising her voice - comfortably swathed in chiffon and pearls, not gold and a tant sari – who moves from Tolly to the British Council to Belur Math (in red border sari) with equal ease – because they exist. Our region is diverse and culturally fluid.
This isn’t about gatekeeping or nitpicking. This is about texture. Specificity. The things that make a culture feel alive. It’s 2025 after all.
For filmmakers like Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Bimal Roy – who helped shape the foundation of the Hindi film industry – and Satyajit Ray – whose work redefined Indian cinema – the culture existed in how characters lived, spoke, prayed, worked, loved. Without tropes.
From our recent memory, Pradeep Sarkar’s Parineeta holds up. Because it didn’t just dress up its characters in Bengali fabrics. It let them live Bengali lives. He gave the film rhythm, texture, truth. As does Anurag Basu, when he seamlessly weaves Bengali culture and beauty and quirks like he did in Barfi.
Because they knew the world, of course – you may say. But getting cultural texture right is not rocket science – is it? It just demands attention. Ultimately, representation comes down to the Director – she/he is not the captain of the ship for nothing. These details – how a character speaks, what they wear, how they move through their space – aren’t accidental. They’re choices. So when a film gets it wrong, it feels like indifference. Just part of a checklist.
Shekhar Kapur directed Elizabeth – did he not? And it’s as authentic as they come. Succession hired a lifestyle consultant to make sure they got the 1% language right. Downton Abbey had a history consultant on set to make sure they remained within the cultural realm. Respect.
Imagine this North vs East scene:
North Indian boy walks into Bengali girl’s home. Stops in front of a gilt-edged portrait and says sincerely, “Dadaji… dekha suna lag raha hai.”
Collective Bengali Jaws drop.
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Dadi chokes on water.
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Domestic help drops the duster.
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Mother stops in her tracks.
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The father judges – because that’s what even the nicest father does in that moment – with a sharply raised eyebrow (snarling at strangers is uncouth after all).
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Father–daughter arch silent exchange.
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Even the dog skids in shock. (tyre screech sound)
Comedic sound drop as camera pans myriad expressions. Pindrop silence follows for a beat, till the girl clears her throat and mutters, with amused affection: “That’s Robi Thakur. I mean – Rabindranath Tagore… ummm.. he wrote… Jana Gana Mana.”
Cue music motif: Faint strain Jana Gana Mana as the penny drops – he squints at the portrait – scratches his head. “Wahi toh! Kya karoon bhai, Dilliwala hoon,” he adds sheepishly.
And just like that he owns the moment – turning it on himself – tongue-in-cheek.
The room bursts into laughter – the dog wags his tail – a moment of humour, warmth, shared awkwardness. Not mocking. Not screechy. Not ham-fisted or patronising. Not offended. Just real.
And everyone gives him a second look – still dubious, but wondering – could there be more to him than his pectoralis major? Dadi’s eyes linger for a beat longer – did he remind her of someone? Granddaughter–Dadi share a warm silent exchange.
A layered cheeky scene – so much better than a broad-stroke “funny” cultural marker – is it not?
The stereotypical Bengali must really make way for real, present-day representation. Authenticity is a win – now more than ever. Narratives most definitely must catch up. Gen X and later need to be clued into our Renaissance as well.
And there’s a treasure trove – if one chose to dig in. Gestures, textures, moments, rituals – the way we live, eat (food has its own personality), speak, relate. It’s all there. No exposition required. No flogging tired tropes
Audiences are watching closely. I have seen that first hand – with my triptych. Do trust me – when Bengalis on screen start behaving like we do off-screen – flesh-and-blood real – then sure, bring on the jokes. We’ll laugh with you. Just don’t serve them with a side order of mustard oil or roshogolla (pronounced raw-show-golla).
Writer Indrani Ray comes from a rich background in advertising and IP creation, with India’s first independent audio content studio featuring A–list Bollywood talent (later acquired by BookMyShow). She’s currently focused on crafting globally resonant, prestige South Asian–forward visual stories.
Find her on: https://www.instagram.com/indraniray_official/
Indrani Ray
December, 2025