Item Numbers in Indian Cinema: Liberation or Objectification?

KAKALI DAS

The ‘item number’ is something that’s wholly Indian, heavily controversial and sinfully masaaledar (spicy).

What is its history?

The term ‘item number’ was first used in 1998, when an iconic soundtrack chugged its way into hearts across the country. ‘Chaiyya Chaiyya’ (movie – Dil Se.., 1998) catapulted Malaika Arora into the spotlight, and made her one of the first performers to be dubbed an ‘item girl’.

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This form of song and dance is defined by its focus on a sexualised woman, who seduces either a single man or a group of men with suggestive dance moves and innuendo filled lyrics – “I’ve hidden it beneath my pallu (end of the saree). If I lift it, there will be upheaval.”

On a study, which analysed scores of ‘item’ songs between 2000 and 2018, found that in almost every single one, there is at least one shot of a camera lingering on a woman’s fragmented body parts – the midriff, naval, breasts, naked back, legs, lips or hips.

In fact, the most cursory scan will also reveal some typical shots – a group of men bent over, their faces aligned with the woman’s buttocks or chest, or a woman lying down horizontally as a camera crawls over her. The music style can range anywhere from rustic and folk inspired, to hip hop or electronic.

The lyrics mostly talk about lust or love. Sometimes even sadness and separation. But, often the dance, costumes and setting do nothing to compliment these themes, and end up looking pretty much the same.

While the years following 1998 were replete with this formulaic song and dance, if we look closely, what was dubbed an ‘item number’ then had actually originated long before. The seductive song and dance came into existence in the 1940s, and became more glamorous by the 1950s, with the rise of ‘exotic’ dancers like Helen.

By the 1960s, the growth of colour cinema and a shift in international music styles changed the way Hindi film songs were composed and picturised. And this set the ground for Helen to invent a whole new style of performance – the Indian cabaret. With its catchy beats and suggestive choreography, the cabaret became a staple in most mainstream films.

In line with the dominant character archetypes of the time, sensuous dances, like the cabaret would mostly be performed by vamps, India’s equivalent of the French femme fatale. This sexy and enticing vamp would be used as a foil for the figure of the heroine, who would be a ‘sanskari abla naari’ (cultured naïve woman).

Throughout the 60s and 70s, and till the early 80s, this divide between the demure, ‘good’ girl and the ‘bad’ dancing vamp remained quite prominent. Though some heroines like Zeenat Aman and Parveen Babi did adopt the Western costumes and glamour of the vamp, overtly erotic dancing remained in the vamp’s domain. But then something changed.

The song was “Ek Do Teen”, the film “Tezaab” and the year 1988. The film’s director N. Chandra had specifically asked choreographer Saroj Khan to create something that would drive the crowd wild, and make them want to tear their clothes with excitement.

And so, for the first time, we saw a film’s leading lady put on a show of seduction, not for her love interest, but for an entire crowd of men clamouring for her attention. This single song drove the film’s success with audiences frequently entering theatres just to watch this dance number and leaving once it was done.

Over the next few years, Madhuri Dixit’s success cemented the rise of a new kind of Bollywood heroine, one who could be dancing erotically for one minute, and dripping with sanskaar (cultural values) the next. This made the heroine the new ‘item’ and the vamp almost redundant. However, there was a catch.

The heroine still needed to have good reason or a compulsion that forced her to show her sexy side to the world. In ‘Ek Do Teen,’ Mohini’s abusive father forced her to become a dancer to make money. In Sailaab’s (1990) ‘Humko Aaj Kal Hai’, Madhuri danced only to raise money for charity. In ‘Choli Ke Peeche’, she pretended to be a courtesan to catch the khalnayak (villain). And in Yaraana’s (1995) ‘Mera Piya Ghar Aaya’, she danced to escape her kidnappers.

The same went for leading actors in other films. Karishma Kapoor in ‘Khuddar’ (1994) danced only to support a group of orphaned children. And Raveena Tandon in ‘Ziddi’ (1997) was a club dancer out of compulsion, rather than choice.

Often the scenes preceding or following these ‘racy’ songs would have a confrontation, in which the actress would explain what drove her to become a ‘bazaaru ladki’ (woman who sells her body) in the first place, making it clear that she did not dance of her own free will. In many narratives, these dancers would also lead to the dancer fighting off unwanted attention and harassment from criminals. This basically reiterated that these dance numbers were still in a morally grey area.

In fact, in the early 90s, some of these songs even faced audience’s backlash for being ‘too obscene’. In the case of ‘Choli Ke Peechey Kya Hai?’ or ‘What’s Behind the Blouse?’, people objected to the pornographic insinuations.

With the song ‘Sexy, Sexy’, the use of the word sexy itself was tagged as ‘indecent’. Women’s organisation and the right wing groups came together to demand a shutdown on these vulgar songs and films. But their demands did not hold up in court, and the controversies around these songs likely made them even bigger hits.

At the same time, the liberalisation of the Indian economy was transforming Indian fashion, entertainment and audience sensibilities. By the late nineties, a new consumer culture had come into existence, where this form of seductive song and dance was labelled and commercialised as the ‘item number.’

Over the early 200s, while the vocabulary of gestures, musical styles and lyrics remained similar, the face of ‘items’ changed. Either they were ‘exotic’ dancers of European origin made to look desi (Indian), or they were Indian heroines.

Unlike the dances by vamps, or leading actresses like Madhuri Dixit, the ‘item numbers’ no longer needed a backstory, and she did nothing to impact the plot of the film. Item songs also began to be featured as post-credit sequences, because their use was mostly promotional.

As the item numbers became a done thing in a mainstream film, it was also simultaneously making a place for itself outside Bollywood, in the independent pop music industry as remixes of older film songs from the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s. The popularity of the ‘item number’ continued to increase with the group of music TV channels as well as digital formats made available through cell-phones, iPods, CDs and streaming websites, which enabled such songs to be recorded, copied and distributed cheaply.

Since the late 2000s, with the rise of social media and a new kind of stardom, more and more women have been taking control of their narrative and status as performers, to use the ‘item number’ on their own terms, be it Samantha Prabhu using ‘Oo Antava’ to establish herself as a dancer, Malaika Arora and Shilpa Shetty going on to judge dance reality shows, or Nora Fatehi using her fame to debut as a singer.

samantha — **Samantha Prabhu** using ‘Oo Antava’

The success that these item girls enjoy is a testament to the cultural significance that ‘item songs’ have till today. But this doesn’t solve the larger issues with the ‘item’ song as a genre – issues that we’re all too familiar with. Critics have been extremely vocal in their opposition against the item number as misogynistic and signalling a larger downfall in the standards of popular music, which has brought us from ‘Babuji Dheere Chalna’ all the way to ‘Babuji Zara Dheere Chalo’.

Realising the validity of some of this criticism, a few filmmakers have vowed to never make ‘item songs’ again. Shabana Azmi, the activist actress expressed her distaste for the item numbers by criticising the women who consent to perform them, accusing them of letting feminism down.

“But are they celebrating sensuality with these item numbers? No. You are surrendering to the male gaze, you are commodifying yourself, and objectifying yourself, because it’s about how the camera is capturing you, it depends on that” – Azmi said.

At the same time, there are feminists who defended the item numbers. Given India’s prudish outlook towards sex, and women’s sexuality in particular, they see the ‘item number’ as a rare site of transgression where sexual pleasure is celebrated.

An item girl has the freedom to be within reach, but still uninterested in a man’s advances. She can be a tease when she wants to, or give into desire when she wants. By showing a woman who is comfortable with and in control of her sexuality, the ‘item number’ also allows us to imagine a space where seducing can be fun and satisfying for a woman.

So, where does that land us? Well, as Indian cinema evolves into a more progressive and reflective space, possibly the ‘item number’ will too. Some films have already starting experimenting with reversing gender roles in visuals, changing how the ‘item number’ is shot. May be the next step forward is to change how we cast and who we cast as ‘items’, or to do away with that terminology altogether.

There is no ban which can stop people from dancing with abandon, feeling sexy, and capitalising on their talent. And there shouldn’t be. But there is a thin line, between a song being positive, progressive, celebratory, or, well, not.

[Images from different sources]

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