Shape of Momo is a compelling drama that masterfully portrays a young woman’s rebellion against societal expectations in Sikkim, offering a nuanced look at feminism, family dynamics, and the search for identity, observes Sukanya Verma.
Key Points
- Bishnu, the protagonist, rebels against traditional expectations in her Sikkimese community, influenced by liberal literature like Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own.
- The film explores the complexities of Bishnu’s relationship with her all-women household, who, despite their own struggles, often accept patriarchal norms.
- Director Tribeny Rai’s screenplay, co-written by Kislay, portrays Bishnu’s ambiguities and internal conflicts without romanticising her rebellion.
- The movie highlights the generational differences and individual forms of protest among the women, from the mother’s deep-seated belief in patriarchy to the sister’s quiet defiance.
- The film uses the serene landscapes of Sikkim to underscore the internal unrest faced by women, making it a relatable story for womankind beyond the North East.
Anything may happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation, scoffs Virginia Woolf in her fiercely feminist 1929 essay A Room of One’s Own. Her sarcasm over patriarchy’s need to confine women in roles decided by men carves 32-year-old Bishnu’s (Gaumaya Gurung) rebellion in director Tribeny Rai’s superbly sublime Shape of Momo.
A frame of Woolf’s essay, flanked by a picture of poets Rabindranath Tagore and Bishnu Kumari Waiba aka Parijat — the Nepali writer she shares her name with — adorning the walls of Bishnu’s childhood bedroom in her Sikkim home are telling of the liberal literature she fed on before escaping to Delhi in search of greener pastures.
Bishnu’s Rebellion and Family Dynamics
Ironically, the harshest city to survive is less suffocating to her than meeting the traditional expectations of a close-knit community wanting nothing better than her to marry a boy from their lot.
If anything, Bishnu’s days in Green Park (a south Delhi neighbourhood) seem to have hardened her a bit, and the workers at the family-owned orange orchard or migrant labourers squatting their land are on the receiving end. As the self-appointed ‘man’ of the family, Bishnu takes offence at her all-women household’s wholehearted acceptance of the male privilege taking hold of their lives.
Between a pushover mom (Pashupati Rai) thrilled by the idea of her daughter seeing the local politician’s son (Rahul Mukhia), a pregnant sister (Shyama Shree Sherpa) being told her cucumber cravings are a sure shot sign she’ll give birth to a boy and a gadget-friendly grandma (Bhanu Maya Rai) waiting for her Dubai-based son to come and fetch her to no avail, Bishnu’s irritation isn’t entirely unjustified if, sometimes, misdirected.
Scenarios where characters are no longer able to relate to the environment they were raised in are not unusual. Naming her cat Azaadi may be an unsubtle indication of her objectives but Bishnu doesn’t always hold a higher ground. Throwing on her dad’s jacket like a responsibility she must inherit to compensate for not being the son he was expecting, puffing a cigarette just to prove a point to a guy shows she’s not above playing into stereotypes.
Authenticity and Nuance in Storytelling
Rai’s screenplay, co-written by Kislay, neither clears her misconceptions nor shies away from her ambiguities. Whether she decides to stay on and set up a homestay in their huge house in the hills or return to a life she’s made on her own terms, Bishnu’s hemming and hawing has the temper of a real person.
As do the women she cannot live with or without.
Bishnu’s mother’s belief in the power of patriarchy runs so deep, it’s almost comical. Like Home Alone’s Kevin, she wards off so-called threats by making her sprawling house look like it’s occupied by a lot of people, most importantly — a man.
Generational Perspectives and Humour
On the other hand, Bishnu’s sister who threw away a promising basketball career to marry a mama’s boy protests by contemplating a future she wants to lead and the courage she cannot find. But it is when these ladies gather around the truly devil-may-care, delightful member of their family, the grandmother, Shape of Momo’s cynicism makes way for charm and celebration.
The fart discussion on the dining table — as they chomp on the titular dumplings, both perfectly pleated and awkwardly wrapped — alone is worth the price of admission. There’s a lived-in quality, a comforting warmth and genuine humour about the actors in Shape of Momo and Rai’s gentle focus on everyday lives and choices consumed by age-old conditioning as easily as it is by modern technology and Korean pop culture.
A Personal and Universal Narrative
Born out of the Sikkimese filmmaker’s own experiences in her native village, the Nepali speaking drama is not so much a story as it is like flipping through the pages of a personal diary. A slice-of-swimming against the tide in a climate of conformity, Shape of Momo has its moments of introspection, disenchantment and epiphany.
But instead of romanticising an idyllic setting to gloat in empty symbolism, Rai uses the sight of lush landscapes and sounds reverberating across pin drop silence to voice an unrest that speaks to womankind within and outside of the North East.
